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THE    GROWTH    OF   A    SOUL 


JTHE 
GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 


BY 

AUGUST    STRINDBERG 

AUTHOR   OF    "the    inferno,"    "  THE   SON   OF    A   SEKVANT,"    ETC. 


TRANSLATED    BY 

CLAUD    FIELD 


NEW   YORK 

McBRIDE,   NAST   b"   COMPANY 

1914 


{^Frinled  in  England'] 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I  IN    THE    FORFX'OURT     . 

II  BELOW    AND    ABOVK     . 

Ill  THE    DOCTOK 

IV  IN    FRONT    OF    TllK    CURTAIN 

V  JOHN    BECOMES    AN    ARISTOCRAT 

VI  BEHIND    THE    CURTAIN 

VII  JOHN    BECOMES    AN    AUTFIOU 

VIII  THE    "  runa"    CLUB    , 

IX  BOOKS    AND    THE    STAOE 

X  TORN    TO    PIECES 

XI  IDEALISM    AND    REALISM 

XII  A    kino's    PROTÉOÉ      . 

XIII  THE    WINDING    UP 

XIV  AMONG    THE    MALCONTENTS 

XV  THE    KKD    ROOM 


PAOS 
1 

24 

65 

83 

97 

109 

120 

128 

154 

162 

178 

183 

195 

204 

219 


THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 


CHAPTER   I 

IN   THE    FORECOURT 
(1867) 

The  steamer  had  passed  Flottsund  and  Dom- 
styrken  and  the  university  buildings  of  Upsala 
began  to  appear.  "  Now  begins  the  real  stone- 
throwing  !  "  exclaimed  one  of  his  companions, — 
an  expression  borrowed  from  the  street-riots  of 
1864.  The  hilarit}^  induced  by  punch  and  breakfast 
abated ;  one  felt  that  things  were  now  serious  and 
that  the  battle  of  life  was  beginning.  No  vows  of 
perpetual  friendship  were  made,  no  promises  of 
helping  each  other.  The  young  men  had  awakened 
from  their  romantic  dreams ;  they  knew  that  they 
would  part  at  the  gang-way,  new  interests  would 
scatter  the  company  which  the  school-room  had 
united ;  competition  would  break  the  bonds  which 
had  united  them  and  all  else  would  be  forgotten. 
The  "  real  stone-throwing  "  was  about  to  begin. 

John  and  his  friend  Fritz  hired  a  room  in  the 
Klostergränden.  It  contained  two  beds,  two  tables, 
two  chairs  and  a  cupboard.     The  rent  was  30  kronas  ^ 

^  A  krona  =  Is.  2d. 
B 


2  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

a  term, — 15  kronas  each.  Their  midday  meal  was 
brought  by  the  servant  for  12  kronas  a  month, — 
6  kronas  each.  For  breakfast  and  supper  they  had 
a  glass  of  milk  and  some  bread  and  butter.  That 
was  all.  They  bought  wood  in  the  market, — a  small 
bundle  for  4  kronas.  John  had  also  received  a 
bottle  of  petroleum  from  home  as  a  present,  and  he 
could  send  his  washing  to  Stockholm.  He  had 
80  kronas  in  his  table-drawer  with  which  to  meet 
all  the  expenses  of  the  term. 

It  was  a  new  and  peculiar  society  into  which  he 
now  entered,  quite  unlike  any  other.  It  had  privileges 
like  the  old  house  of  peers  and  a  jurisdiction  of  its 
own;  but  it  was  a  "little  Pedlington  "  and  reeked 
of  rusticity.  All  the  professors  were  country-born ; 
not  a  single  one  hailed  from  Stockholm.  The  houses 
and  streets  were  like  those  of  Nyköping.  And  it 
was  here  that  the  head- quarters  of  culture  had  been 
placed,  owing  to  an  inconsistency  of  the  govern- 
ment which  certainly  regarded  Stockholm  as  answer- 
ing to  that  description. 

The  students  were  regarded  as  the  upper  class 
in  the  town  and  the  citizens  were  stigmatised  by 
the  contemptuous  epithet  of  "  Philistines."  The 
students  were  outside  and  above  the  civic  law.  To 
smash  windows,  break  down  fences,  tussle  with  the 
police,  disturb  the  peace  of  the  streets, — all  was 
allowed  to  them  and  went  unpunished ;  at  most 
they  received  a  reprimand,  for  the  old  lock-up  in 
the  castle  was  no  more  used.  For  their  militia- 
service  they  had  a  special  uniform  of  their  own 
which  carried  privileges  with  it.     Thus  they  were 


IN  THE  FORECOURT  3 

systematically  educated  as  aristocrats,  a  new  order 
of  nobility  after  the  fall  of  the  house  of  peers. 

What  would  have  been  a  crime  in  a  citizen  was  a 
"  practical  joke  "  in  a  student.  Just  at  this  time 
the  students'  spirits  were  at  a  high  pitch,  as  a  band 
of  student-singers  had  gone  to  Paris,  had  been 
successful  there,  and  were  acclaimed  as  conquerors 
on  their  return. 

John  now  wished  to  work  for  his  degree  but  did 
not  possess  a  single  book.  "  During  the  first  term 
one  must  take  one's  bearings "  was  the  saying. 
John  went  to  the  student's  club.  The  constitution 
of  the  club  was  antiquated, — so  much  so  that  the 
annexed  provinces  Skåne,  Halland  and  Blekinge 
were  not  represented  in  it.  It  was  well  arranged 
and  divided  into  classes,  not  according  to  merit, 
but  according  to  age  and  certain  dubious  qualities. 
In  the  list  the  title  "  nobilis  "  still  stood  after  the 
names  of  those  of  high  birth.  There  were  several 
ways  of  gaining  influence  in  the  club,  through  an 
aristocratic  name,  family  influence,  money,  talent, 
pluck  and  adaptability,  but  the  last  quality  by 
itself  was  not  enough  among  these  intelligent  and 
sceptical  youths.  On  the  first  evening  in  the  club 
John  made  his  observations.  There  were  several 
of  his  old  companions  from  the  Clara  School  present, 
but  he  avoided  them  as  much  as  possible  and  they 
him.  He  had  deserted  them  and  gone  by  a  short 
cut  through  the  private  school,  while  they  had 
tramped  along  the  regular  course  through  the  state 
school.  They  all  seemed  to  him  somewhat  conven- 
tional   and    stunted.     Fritz    plunged    among    the 


4  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

aristocrats  and  obtained  introductions,  made 
acquaintances  easily  and  got  on  well. 

As  they  went  home  in  the  evening  John  asked 
him  who  was  the  "  snob  "  in  the  velvet  jacket  with 
stirrups  painted  on  his  collar.  Fritz  answered  that 
he  was  not  a  snob,  and  that  it  was  as  stupid  to  judge 
people  by  fine  clothes  as  by  poor  ones.  John  with 
his  democratic  ideas  did  not  understand  this  and 
stuck  to  his  opinion.  Fritz  asserted  that  the  youth 
referred  to  was  a  very  fine  fellow  and  the  senior  in 
the  club,  and  in  order  to  rouse  John  further,  added 
that  he  had  expressed  himself  satisfied  with  the 
newcomers'  appearance  and  manners ;  he  was  re- 
ported to  have  said  "  they  had  an  air  about  them; 
formerly  the  fellows  from  Stockholm  when  they 
came  there,  looked  like  workmen." 

John  was  ruffled  at  this  information  and  felt  that 
something  had  come  in  between  him  and  his  friend. 
Fritz's  father  had  been  a  miller's  servant,  but  his 
mother  had  been  of  noble  birth.  He  had  inherited 
from  his  mother  what  Jolm  had  from  his. 

The  days  passed  on.  Fritz  put  on  his  frock  coat 
every  morning  and  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
professors.  He  intended  to  be  a  jurist ;  that  was 
a  proper  career,  for  lawyers  were  the  only  ones  who 
obtained  real  knowledge  which  was  of  use  in  public 
life,  who  tried  to  obtain  deeper  insight  into  social 
organisation  and  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  practical 
business  of  everydaj^  life.     They  were  realists. 

John  had  no  frock  coat,  no  books,  no  acquaint- 
ances. 

"  Borrow  my  coat,"  said  Fritz. 


IN  THE  FORECOURT  6 

"  No,  I  will  not  go  and  pay  court  to  the  professors," 
said  John. 

"  You  are  stupid,"  answered  Fritz,  and  in  that 
he  was  right,  for  the  professors  gave  real  though 
somewhat  hazy  information  regarding  the  courses 
of  study.  It  was  a  piece  of  pride  in  John  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  owe  his  progress  to  anything  but 
his  own  work,  and  what  was  worse,  he  thought  it 
ignominious  to  be  regarded  as  a  flunkey.  Would 
not  an  old  professor  at  once  perceive  that  he  was 
flattering  him  for  his  own  purposes  ?  To  submit 
himself  to  his  superiors  was,  in  his  mind,  synonymous 
with  grovelling. 

Moreover  everything  was  too  indefinite.  The 
university  which  he  had  imagined  to  be  an  institu- 
tion for  free  investigation,  was  only  one  for  tasks 
and  examinations.  The  professors  gave  lectures 
for  the  sake  of  appearances  or  to  maintain  their 
income,  but  it  was  useless  to  go  up  for  an  examina- 
tion without  taking  private  lessons.  John  resolved 
to  attend  those  lectures  for  which  no  fee  was  neces- 
sary. He  went  to  the  Gustavianum  to  hear  a  lecture 
on  the  history  of  philosophj^  For  the  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  during  which  the  lecture  lasted  the 
professor  went  through  the  introduction  to  Aristotle's 
Ethics.  John  calculated  that  with  three  lectures  a 
week  he  would  require  forty  years  to  go  through  the 
history  of  philosophy.  "  Forty  years,"  he  thought, 
"  that  is  too  long  for  me."  And  did  not  go  again. 
It  was  the  same  ever3"where.  An  assistant -professor 
expounded  Shakespeare's  Henry  VIII  with  the 
commentary,  in   English,   to  an  audience  of  five. 


6  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

John  went  there  a  few  times,  but  reckoned  that  it 
would  be  ten  years  before  Henry  VIII  was  finished. 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  him  what  the  requirements 
of  the  degree  examination  were.  The  first  was  to 
write  a  Latin  essay ;  therefore  he  must  learn  more 
Latin,  which  he  did  not  like.  He  had  chosen 
sesthetics  and  modern  languages  as  his  chief  subject. 
^Esthetics  comprised  the  study  of  Architecture, 
Sculpture,  Painting,  Literary  History  and  the 
various  S3^stems  of  aesthetics.  That  was  work 
enough  for  a  lifetime.  The  modern  languages 
were  French,  German,  English,  Italian  and  Spanish, 
with  comparative  grammar.  How  was  he  to  obtain 
the  requisite  books  ?  And  he  had  not  the  means 
of  paying  for  private  lessons. 

Meanwhile  he  set  to  work  at  ^Esthetics.  He  found 
that  one  could  borrow  books  from  the  club  and 
so  he  took  out  the  volumes  of  Atterbom's  Prophets 
and  Poets  which  happened  to  be  there.  These 
unfortunately  only  dealt  with  Swedenborg  and 
contained  Thorild's  epistles.  Swedenborg  seemed 
to  him  crazy,  and  Thorild's  epistles  did  not  interest 
him.  Swedenborg  and  Thorild  were  two  arrogant 
Swedes  who  had  lived  in  retirement  and  fallen  a 
prey  to  megalomania,  the  special  disease  of  solitary 
people.  It  is  remarkable  how  often  outbreaks  of 
this  hallucination  occur  in  Sweden,  owing  probably 
to  the  isolated  position  of  the  country  and  to  the 
fact  that  a  sparse  population  is  scattered  over 
enormous  distances.  Megalomania  is  apparent  in 
the  imperial  projects  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  in 
Charles  X's  ambition  of  becoming  a  great  European 


IN  THE   FORECOURT  7 

power,  in  Charles  XII's  Attila-like  schemes,  in 
Rudbeck's  Atlantic-mania,  and  m  Swedenborg's  and 
Thorild's  dreams  of  storming  heaven  and  of  world- 
conflagrations.  John  thought  them  mad  and  threw 
them  aside.  Was  that  the  sort  of  stuff  he  was 
expected  to  read  ? 

He  began  to  reflect  over  his  situation.  What 
did  he  expect  to  do  in  Upsala  ?  To  support  himself 
for  six  years  on  80  kronas  till  he  took  his  degree. 
And  then  ?  his  thoughts  did  not  stretch  further ; 
he  had  no  higher  plan  or  ambition  than  to  take 
his  degree — the  laurel  cro\Mi,  the  graduate's  coat, 
and  then  to  teach  the  catechism  in  the  Jakob  school 
till  his  death.     No,  he  did  not  wish  to  do  that. 

Time  went  on,  and  Christmas  approached.  The 
little  stock  of  money  in  his  table-drawer  diminished 
slowly  but  surely.  And  then  ?  It  was  not  so  easy 
for  students  to  obtain  emplojTnent  as  private 
teachers  since  the  railways  had  made  commmiication 
easier  between  remote  country  places  and  the  towns 
where  schools  were.  He  felt  that  he  had  embarked 
upon  a  foolish  undertaking.  Wlien  he  found  he 
could  get  no  more  books,  he  began  to  make  visits 
among  his  fellow-students  and  discovered  com- 
panions in  misfortmie.  Among  them  were  two  who 
had  spent  the  whole  term  playing  chess  and  possessed 
nothing  between  them  but  a  hymn-book  which  the 
mother  of  one  had  placed  in  his  box.  They  were 
also  asking  themselves  the  question  "  What  have 
we  to  do  here  ?  "  The  way  to  the  degree  examina- 
tion was  not  easy ;  one  was  compelled  to  seek  out 
secret  ways,  bribe  door-keepers,  creep  through  holes, 


8  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

run  into  debt  for  books,  be  seen  at  lectures  and  much 
more  besides. 

In  order  to  fill  up  the  time,  he  learnt  to  play  the 
B-cornet  in  the  band  of  the  students'  club  by  the 
advice  of  Fritz  who  played  the  trombone.  But  the 
practices  were  very  irregular  and  began  to  cause 
disputes.  John  also  played  backgammon,  which 
Fritz  hated,  and  so  he  wandered  about  to  acquaint- 
ances with  his  backgammon  board  and  played  with 
them.     He  found  it  as  dull  as  reading  Swedenborg. 

"  Why  do  you  not  study  ?  "  Fritz  often  asked 
him. 

"  I  have  no  books,"  answered  John.  That  was 
a  good  reason.  He  could  not  visit  the  restaurants, 
for  he  had  no  mone}^,  and  lived  very  quietly.  At 
the  midday  meal  he  drank  only  water,  and  when 
on  Sundays  he  and  Fritz  drank  half  a  bottle  of 
beer,  they  remained  sitting  at  table  half-fuddled 
and  telling  each  other,  perhaps  for  the  hundredth 
time,  old  school  adventures.  The  term  crept  along 
intolerably  slow,  uneventful  and  torpid.  John 
perceived  that,  as  one  of  the  lower  class,  he  could 
plod  on  thus  far  but  no  further.  The  economic 
question  brought  his  plans  to  a  standstill.  Or  was 
it  that  he  was  tired  of  living  a  one-sided  mental 
life  without  muscular  exercise  ?  Trifling  experi- 
ences for  which  he  ought  to  have  been  prepared 
contributed  to  embitter  him.  One  day  Fritz 
entered  their  room  with  a  young  count.  He  intro- 
duced John  to  him,  and  the  count  tried  to  remember 
whether  they  had  not  been  comrades  at  the  Clara 
School.     John  seemed  to  remember  something  of 


IN  THE  FORECOURT  9 

the  kind.  The  old  friends  and  intimate  companions 
addressed  each  other  as  "  count  "  and  "sir."  Then 
John  remembered  how  he  and  the  young  count 
had  once  played  as  boys  in  a  tobacco  store  on  the 
Sabbatsberg,  and  how  something  had  made  him 
prophesy,  "  In  a  few  years,  old  fellow,  we  shall  not 
know  each  other  any  more."  The  young  count 
had  protested  strongly  against  this  and  felt  hurt. 
Why  did  John  remember  this  just  then  particularly, 
since  it  is  quite  natural  that  comrades  should  become 
strangers  to  each  other  when  intercourse  has  been 
so  long  broken  off  ?  Because  at  the  sight  of  the 
noble,  he  felt  the  slave  blood  seethe  in  his  veins. 
This  kind  of  feeling  has  been  ascribed  to  the  difiEer- 
ence  of  races.  But  that  is  not  so,  for  then  the 
stronger  plebeian  race  would  feel  superior  to  the 
weaker  aristocratic.     It  is  simply  class-hatred. 

The  count  in  question  was  a  pale,  tall,  slender 
youth  of  no  striking  appearance.  He  was  very 
poor  and  looked  half-starved.  He  was  intelligent, 
industrious,  and  not  at  all  proud.  Later  on  in  life 
John  came  across  him  again  and  found  him  to  be 
a  sociable,  pleasant  man,  leading  an  inconspicuous 
life  as  an  official,  amid  difficulties  resembling  John's 
own.  Why  should  he  hate  him  ?  And  then  they 
both  laughed  at  their  j^outhful  stupidit3^  That 
was  possible  then,  for  John  seemed  to  have  "  got 
ahead  "  as  the  saying  is ;  otherwise  he  would  not 
have  laughed  at  all.  "  Stand  up  that  I  may  sit 
down,"  this  was  the  more  malicious  than  luminous 
way  of  expressing  the  aspiration  of  the  lower  orders 
in   those   days.     But   it   was   a   mismiderstanding. 


10  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

Formerly  one  strove  to  elbow  one's  way  up  to  the 
other ;  now  one  would  rather  pull  the  other  down 
to  save  oneself  the  trouble  of  clambering  up  where 
nothing  is  to  be  found.  "  Move  a  little  so  that  we 
can  both  sit  "  would  now  be  the  proper  formula. 

It  has  been  said  that  those  who  are  "  above  " 
are  there  by  a  law  of  necessity  and  would  be  there 
under  all  circumstances ;  competition  is  free  and 
each  can  ascend  if  he  likes,  and  if  the  conditions 
were  changed,  the  same  race  would  begin  again. 
"  Good  !  "  say  the  lower  classes,  "  let  us  race  again, 
but  come  down  here  and  stand  where  I  do.  You 
have  got  a  start  with  privileges  and  capital,  but  now 
let  us  be  weighed  with  carriage  harness  and  racing 
saddle  after  the  modern  fashion.  You  have  got 
ahead  by  cheating.  The  race  is  therefore  declared 
null  and  void  and  we  will  run  it  again,  unless  we 
come  to  an  agreement  to  do  away  with  all  racing, 
as  an  antiquated  sport  of  ancient  times." 

Fritz  saw  things  from  another  point  of  view.  He 
did  not  wish  to  pull  those  above  down,  but  to  become 
an  aristocrat  himself,  climb  up  to  them  and  be  like 
them.  He  began  to  lisp  and  made  elegant  gestures 
with  his  hands,  greeted  people  as  though  he  were 
a  cabinet  minister,  and  threw  his  head  back  as 
though  he  had  a  private  income.  But  he  respected 
himself  too  much  to  become  ridiculous  and  satirised 
himself  and  his  ambition.  The  fact  was  that  the 
aristocrats  whom  he  wished  to  resemble  had  simple, 
easy,  unaffected  manners, — some  of  them  indeed 
quite  like  the  middle  class,  while  Fritz  was  fashioning 
himself  after  an  ancient  theatrical  pattern  which 


IN  THE  FORECOURT  11 

no  longer  existed.  He  did  not  therefore  become 
what  he  expected  in  life  though  he  had  dozed  away 
many  a  summer  in  the  castles  of  his  friends,  and 
ended  in  a  ver}^  modest  official  post.  He  was  re- 
ceived as  a  student  in  their  guest-rooms  but  came 
no  further  ;  as  a  district  judge  he  was  not  introduced 
in  the  salons  which  as  a  student  he  had  entered 
without  introduction. 

The  effects  of  the  different  circles  in  which  John 
and  Fritz  moved  began  now  to  be  apparent,  first 
in  mutual  coldness,  then  in  hostility.  One  evening 
it  broke  out  at  the  card-table. 

Fritz  one  daj^  towards  the  end  of  the  term  said 
to  John,  "  You  should  not  go  about  with  such 
bounders  as  you  do." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  them  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  but  it  would  be  better  if  you  went 
with  me  to  my  friends." 

"  They  don't  suit  me." 

"  Well,  they  suit  me,  but  they  think  you  are 
proud," 

"  I  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  to  show  you  are  not,  come  with  me 
this  evening  and  drink  punch." 

John  went  though  unwillingly.  They  were  a 
solid-looking  set  of  law-students  who  played  cards. 
They  discussed  the  stakes  for  which  they  should  play, 
and  John  succeeded  in  reducing  them  to  a  minimum, 
though  they  made  sour  faces.  Then  a  game  of 
"  knack  "  was  proposed.  John  said  that  he  never 
played  it. 

"  On  principle  ?  "  he  was  asked. 


12  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  How  long  ago  did  you  make  that  resolve," 
asked  Fritz  sarcasticall3^ 

"  Just  this  minute." 

"  Just  now,  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  now,  here !  "  answered  Jolm. 

They  exchanged  hostile  looks  and  that  was  the 
end.  They  went  home  silent ;  went  to  bed  silent ; 
and  got  up  silent.  For  five  weeks  they  ate  their 
dinner  at  the  same  table  and  never  spoke  to  each 
other.  A  gulf  had  opened  between  them  and  their 
friendship  was  ended ;  they  had  no  more  intercourse 
with  each  other  and  there  was  nothing  to  bring 
them  together  again.     How  had  that  come  about  ? 

These  two  characters  so  opposed  to  each  other 
had  held  together  for  five  years  through  habit, 
through  comradeship  in  the  class-room,  and  common 
interests ;  they  had  felt  draAvn  to  each  other  by 
common  recollections,  defeats  and  victories.  It 
was  a  compromise  between  fire  and  water  which 
must  cease  sooner  or  later  and  might  cease  at  any 
moment.  Now  they  flew  asunder  as  if  bj'-  an  ex- 
plosion ;  the  masks  fell ;  they  did  not  become  enemies, 
but  simply  discovered  that  they  were  born  enemies, 
i.  e.  two  oppositely-disposed  natures  which  must 
go,  each  its  own  way.  They  did  not  close  accounts 
with  a  quarrel  or  useless  accusations,  but  simply 
made  an  end  without  more  ado.  An  unnatural 
silence  prevailed  at  their  midday  meal ;  some- 
times in  lifting  dishes  their  hands  crossed  but  their 
looks  avoided  each  other ;  now  and  then  Fritz's 
lips  moved,  as  though  he  wished  to  say  something. 


IN  THE   FORECOURT  13 

but  his  laryiix  remained  closed.  Wliat  should  he 
say  after  all.  There  was  nothing  to  say  but  what 
the  silence  expressed  :  "  We  have  nothing  more  in 
common." 

And  j-et  there  was  something  left  after  all.  Some- 
times Fritz  came  home  in  the  evening,  cheerful,  and 
obviously  prepared  to  say,  "  Come  !  cheer  up  old 
fellow  !  "  But  then  he  stood  still  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  petrified  by  John's  icy  manner,  and 
went  out  again.  Sometimes  also  it  occurred  to 
John,  who  suffered  under  the  breach  of  friendship 
to  say  to  his  friend,  "  How  stupid  we  are  !  "  But 
then  he  felt  frozen  again  byFritz's  indifferent  manner. 
They  had  worn  out  their  friendship  by  living  to- 
gether. They  knew  each  other  by  heart,  all  one 
another's  secrets  and  weaknesses,  and  precisely 
what  answer  either  would  give.  That  was  the  end. 
Nothing  more  remained. 

A  miserable  torpid  time  followed.  Torn  away 
from  the  common  life  of  school  where  he  had  worked 
like  part  of  a  machine  in  unison  with  others,  and 
abandoned  to  himself,  he  ceased  to  live  in  the  proper 
sense  of  the  word.  Without  books,  papers  or  social 
intercourse,  he  remained  empty ;  for  the  brain  pro- 
duces of  itself  very  little,  perhaps  nothing ;  in  order 
to  make  combinations  it  must  be  supplied  with 
material  from  without.  Now  nothing  came;  the 
channels  were  stopped,  the  ways  blocked,  and  his 
soul  pined  away.  Sometimes  he  took  Fritz's  books 
and  looked  into  them ;  among  them  he  came  across 
Geijer's  History  for  the  first  time.  Geijer  was  a 
great  name  and  known  through  his  "  Kolargossen," 


14  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

"  Sista  Kampen,"  "  Vikingen  "  and  other  poems. 
John  now  read  his  history  of  Gustav  Vasa.  He  was 
astonished  to  find  no  illuminating  point  of  view 
nor  any  fresh  information.  The  style,  which  he 
had  heard  praised,  was  pedestrian.  It  was  like  a 
mere  memorial  sketch,  this  history  of  a  long-lived 
king's  reign,  and  cursory  also  like  a  text-book. 
Printed  in  small  type,  and  without  notes,  the  history 
of  this  important  king  would  not  have  been  longer 
than  a  small  pamphlet.  One  day  John  asked  some 
of  his  friends  what  they  thought  of  Geijer. 

"He  is  devilish  dull,"  they  answered. 

That  was  the  common  opinion  before  jubilee- 
commemorations  and  the  erection  of  statues  pre- 
vented people  saying  plainly  what  they  thought. 

John  then  looked  for  a  little  into  law-books,  but 
was  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  having  to  study  that 
sort  of  thing.  His  home  life  and  religious  education 
had  given  him  a  distaste  for  ever^^thing  that  con- 
cerned the  common  interests  of  people.  Through 
the  ceaseless  repetition  of  the  maxim  that  young 
men  should  not  interfere  with  politics,  that  is  to 
say,  with  the  common  weal,  and  through  Christian 
individualism  and  introspection,  John  had  become 
a  consistent  egoist. 

"  Let  every  one  mind  his  own  business  "  was  the 
first  command  of  this  egotistic  morality.  Therefore 
he  read  no  papers  and  troubled  little  how  things 
were  going  on  about  him,  what  was  happening  in 
the  world,  how  the  destinies  of  men  were  being 
shaped,  or  what  were  the  thoughts  of  the  leading 
minds  of  the  time.     Therefore  it  never  occurred  to 


IN   THE   FORECOURT  15 

him  to  go  to  the  meetmgs  of  the  ckib  where  questions 
of  common  interest  were  dealt  with.  "  There  were 
enough  to  look  after  those  things,"  he  thought. 

He  was  not  alone  in  that  opinion,  so  that  the 
meetings  of  the  club  were  managed  by  a  few  energetic 
fellow^s,  who  were  regarded  perhaps  wrongly,  as 
egoists  and  managed  public  business  in  their  own 
interests.  John  who  let  the  affairs  of  the  little 
society  go  as  they  liked,  was  perhaps  a  greater 
egoist,  occupied  as  he  was  with  the  affairs  of  his  own 
soul.  But  in  his  own  defence  and  on  behalf  of  many 
of  his  countrymen  it  must  be  said  that  he  and  they 
were  shy.  This  shjaiess,  however,  should  have 
been  got  rid  of  at  school  by  practice  in  public 
speaking.  In  this  shyness  there  was  also  a  degree 
of  cowardice,  the  fear  of  opposition  or  ridicule,  and 
especially  the  fear  of  being  thought  presumptuous 
or  wishing  to  push  oneself  forward.  Every  youth 
who  did  so,  was  at  once  suppressed,  for  here  the 
aristocracy  of  seniority  prevailed  in  a  very  high 
degree. 

When  he  found  the  room  too  stuffy,  he  went  out 
of  the  town.  But  the  depressing  landscape  with 
its  endless  expanse  of  clay  made  him  sad.  He  was 
no  plain -dweller,  but  had  his  roots  in  the  undulating 
scenery  of  Stockholm,  diversified  by  water  channels. 
The  flat  country  depressed  him  and  he  suffered  from 
homesickness  to  such  a  degree  that  when  he  returned 
to  Stockholm  at  Christmas  and  saw  again  the 
smiling  contours  of  the  coast  of  Brunsvik,  he  was 
moved  to  the  point  of  sentimentality.  When  he 
saw  once  more  the  gentle  curves  of  the  woods  of 


16  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

Haga  Park  he  felt  his  soul,  as  it  were,  attuned  again, 
after  having  been  so  long  out  of  tune.  To  such  a 
degree  were  his  nerves  affected  by  his  natural 
surroundings. 

Under  other  circumstances,  the  societj^  of  a  smaller 
towai  like  Upsala  would  have  been  more  congenial 
to  him  than  that  of  the  great  town  which  he  hated. 
Had  the  small  town  been  but  a  developed  form  of 
the  village,  preserving  the  simple  rustic  appliances 
for  health  and  comfort,  with  fragments  of  landscape 
between  the  houses,  it  would  have  been  far  preferable 
to  the  great  town.  But  now  the  small  town  was 
merely  a  shabby  pretentious  copy  of  the  great 
town  with  its  mistakes,  and  therefore  the  more 
offensive.  It  also  reeked  with  provinciality.  Every 
one  mentioned  their  birthplace,  "  My  name  is  Petters- 
son, from  Ostgothland,"  "  Mine  is  Andersson,  from 
Småland."  There  was  a  keen  rivalry'  between  the 
members  of  different  provinces.  Those  from  Stock- 
holm regarded  themselves  as  the  first  and  were 
therefore  envied  and  despised  by  the  "  peasants." 
There  was  much  dispute  as  to  wdiom  the  first  place 
really  belonged.  The  Wörmlanders  boasted  of 
having  produced  Geijer  whose  portrait  hung  in 
their  hall,  while  the  Smålanders  had  Tegnér,  Berze- 
lius  and  Linnaeus.  The  Stockholm  students  who 
had  onl}^  Bergfalk  and  Bellmann  were  called  "  gutter- 
snipes." This  was  not  a  very  brilliant  piece  of  wit 
especially  as  it  emanated  from  a  Kalmar  student 
who  was  thereupon  asked  "  whether  there  were  no 
gutters  in  Kalmar  ?  ' ' 

There   was   something   pettifogging   also   in   the 


IN  THE  FORECOURT  17 

way  in  which  the  professors  fought  for  advancement 
by  means  of  pamphlets  and  newspaper  articles. 
The  election  to  any  particular  professorial  chair 
rested  in  the  last  resource  with  the  Chancellor  of 
the  University  who  lived  at  Stockholm. 

In  1867  the  University  had  no  especially  dis- 
tinguished teachers.  Some  of  them  were  merely 
old  decayed  tipplers.  Others  were  young  immature 
dilettantes  who  had  obtained  advancement  through 
their  wives  and  the  modicum  of  talent  which  they 
possessed.  The  only  one  who  enjoyed  a  certain 
reputation  was  Swedelius.  This,  however,  was 
rather  due  to  his  bonhomie  and  the  anecdotes  which 
gathered  round  him,  then  to  his  own  talent.  His 
learned  activity  was  confined  to  the  composition 
in  an  austere  style  of  textbooks  and  memorial 
addresses.  These  were  not  strictly  scientific,  but 
showed  traces  of  original  research 

On  the  whole  all  the  subjects  of  study  were  intro- 
duced from  abroad,  for  the  most  part  from  Germany. 
The  textbooks  in  most  departments  were  in  German 
or  French.  Very  few  were  in  English  which  was 
little  known .  Even  the  Professor  of  Literary  History 
could  not  pronounce  English  and  began  his  lectures 
with  an  apology  for  not  being  able  to  do  so.  There 
was  no  doubt  that  he  knew  the  language  for  he  had 
published  translations  of  Swedish  poems.  "  But 
why  did  he  not  learn  the  pronunciation  ?  "  the 
students  asked.  Most  of  the  dissertations  for 
degrees  were  mere  compilations  from  the  German  ; 
occasionally   they    were    direct    translations    which 

caused  a  scandal, 
c 


18  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

The  fact  was  that  the  period  had  no  special 
feature  to  characterise  it.  There  is  no  such  thing 
as  Swedish  culture  any  more  than  there  is  Belgian, 
Swiss,  or  Hungarian.  Sweden  had  indeed  produced 
a  Linnaeus  and  a  Berzelius,  but  they  had  had  no 
successors. 

John  had  no  spirit  of  enterprise.  At  school  his 
work  had  been  settled  for  him ;  at  the  university  it 
was  all  left  to  him.  He  was  overcome  bj'^  lethargy 
and  listlessness  and  worried  by  not  knowing  what 
to  do  at  the  end  of  the  term.  He  saw  that  he  must 
seek  for  a  position  in  which  he  could  support  him- 
self. A  friend  had  told  him  that  one  might  become 
an  elementary  teacher  in  the  country  without  passing 
any  more  examinations  and  could  verj^  well  support 
oneself  in  such  a  post.  Now  it  was  John's  dream  to 
live  in  the  country.  He  had  a  natural  dislike  to 
towns  though  he  had  been  born  in  the  metropolis. 
He  could  not  accustom  himself  to  live  without  light 
and  air,  nor  flourish  in  these  streets  and  market- 
places, where  the  outward  signs  of  a  higher  or  lower 
position  in  the  absurd  social  scale  counted  for  so 
much,  e.g.  such  subordinate  things  as  dress  and 
manner.  He  had  hostility  to  culture  in  his  blood 
and  could  never  conceive  of  himself  as  anything 
else  than  a  natural  product,  which  did  not  wish  to 
be  severed  from  its  organic  connection  with  the 
earth.  He  was  like  a  plant  vainly  feeling  with  its 
roots  between  the  pavement-stones  for  some  soil; 
like  an  animal  pining  for  the  forest. 

There  is  a  fish  which  climbs  up  trees,  and  an  eel 
can  go  on  land  to  look  for  a  pease-field,  but  both  of 


IN  THE   FORECOURT  19 

them  return  to  the  water.  Fowls  have  been  domesti- 
cated so  long  that  their  ancestral  characteristics 
have  died  out,  but  they  preserve  the  habit  of  sleeping 
on  a  perch  which  represents  the  branch  on  which 
the  black-cock  and  the  wood-grouse  roost.  Geese 
become  restless  in  autumn,  for  an  instinct  in  their 
blood  tells  them  that  it  is  migrating  time.  So  in 
spite  of  accommodation  to  new  circumstances  there 
is  alwaj's  a  tendency  to  go  back. 

Thus  is  it  also  with  men.  The  dweller  in  the 
north,  so  long  as  he  preserves  civilised  habits,  has 
not  been  able  to  acclimatise  himself  thoroughly, 
and  is  still  liable  to  consumption.  His  stomach, 
nerves,  heart  and  skin  were  able  to  accommodate 
themselves,  but  not  his  lungs.  The  Eskimo  on 
the  other  hand,  orginally  a  southerner,  succeeded 
in  acclimatising  himself  but  had  to  give  up  civilised 
habits. 

And  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  northerner's 
longing  for  the  south  unless  it  be  the  wish  to  return 
to  his  first  home,  the  land  of  the  sun,  the  bank  of 
the  Ganges  where  he  was  cradled  ?  And  the  dislike 
of  children  to  meat,  their  longing  for  fruit  and  love 
of  climbing,  what  is  it  all  but  "  reversion  to  type  ?  " 
Therefore  civilisation  means  a  continual  strain 
and  struggle  to  combat  this  backward  tendency. 
Education  winds  up  the  clock,  but  when  the  main- 
spring is  not  strong  enough  it  snaps  and  the  works 
run  dowii,  till  quiet  ensues.  As  civilisation  advances 
the  strain  is  ever  greater  and  the  statistics  of  in- 
sanity show  a  perpetual  increase.  One  cannot 
swim  against  the  stream  of  civilisation,   but   one 


20  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

may  escape  to  land.  Modern  Socialism  which 
wishes  to  bring  down  the  upper  classes  with  their 
worthless  and  dangerous  motto  "  Higher  !  "  is  a 
backward  movement  in  a  healthy  direction.  The 
strain  will  decrease  as  the  pressure  from  above 
decreases,  and  thereby  a  great  deal  of  superfluous 
luxury  will  be  got  rid  of.  Li  certain  parts  of  German 
Switzerland  there  is  already  a  certain  relative  quiet. 
There  we  find  no  restless  hunting  after  honours 
and  distinctions  because  there  are  none  to  be  had. 
A  millionaire  lives  in  a  large  cottage  and  laughs 
at  the  bedizened  townsfolk, — a  good-natured  laugh 
without  Sbuy  envy  in  it,  for  he  knows  that  he  could 
buy  up  their  finery  for  ready  cash,  if  he  chose.  But 
he  will  not,  for  luxury  has  no  value  in  his  neighbours' 
eyes. 

Men  could  therefore  be  happier  if  competition 
were  not  so  keen  and  they  will  yet  be  so,  for  the 
chief  constituent  of  happiness  is  peace  along  with 
less  toil  and  less  luxur3\  It  is  not  the  railways  which 
are  to  be  blamed,  but  the  superabundance  of  them. 
In  Arcadian  Switzerland  railways  have  ruined 
whole  districts  where  no  freightage  is  required  and 
people  usually  go  on  foot.  To  this  day  distances 
are  reckoned  by  pedestrian  measures. 

"  It  is  eight  hours  to  Zurich,"  saj^s  some  one. 

"  Eight  !    is  it  possible?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  By  the  railway  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  b}^  the  railway, — that  is  onl}'  an  hour  and 
a  half." 

In  Sweden  there  is  a  railway  which  carries  regu- 


IN  THE   FORECOURT  21 

larly  three  passengers  in  its  three  classes,  a  factory- 
o^vncr,  a  baihft'  and  a  clerk.  We  may  live  to  see 
them  shut  up  the  railway  stations  for  want  of  coal 
when  the  coal  strikes  have  sent  up  the  price,  for 
want  of  guards  when  wages  rise,  and  for  want  of 
freight  when  wood  and  oats  can  no  longer  be  pro- 
cured ;  iron  is  already  too  dear  to  be  used  for  rail- 
ways, and  the  old  water-ways  ought  to  be  tried. 

It  is  no  use  to  preach  against  civilisation, — that 
one  Icnows  well,  but  if  we  observe  the  currents  of 
the  time  we  shall  see  that  a  return  to  nature  is  in 
process  of  going  on.  Turgenieff  has  already  described 
this  by  the  word  "  simplification."  That  is  the 
mistake  of  the  evolutionists  that  in  everything 
which  is  in  motion  or  course  of  development  they 
see  a  progress  towards  human  happiness,  forgetting 
that  a  sickness  may  develop  to  death  or  recovery. 

After  all,  what  a  superficial  appendage  civilisation 
is  !  Make  a  nobleman  drunk  and  he  can  become 
like  a  savage  ;  let  a  child  loose  in  a  wood  without 
any  one  to  look  after  it  (provided  that  it  can  feed 
itself)  and  it  will  not  learn  to  speak  of  itself.  Out 
of  a  peasant's  son  who  is  generally  considered  so 
low  in  the  social  scale,  one  can  make  in  a  single 
generation  a  man  of  science,  a  minister,  an  arch- 
bishop, or  an  artist.  Here  there  can  be  no  talk 
of  heredity,  for  the  peasant-father  who  stood 
apparently  at  such  a  low  level,  could  not  have 
inherited  anything  from  cultivated  brains.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  children  of  a  genius  inherit 
usually  nothing  but  used-up  brains,  except  occasion- 
ally a  skill  in  their  father's  line  of  work,  wliich 


22  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

they  have  acquired  by  daily  intercourse  with  their 
father. 

The  town  is  the  fire-place  whither  the  living  fuel 
from  the  country  is  brought  and  devoured ;  it  is 
to  keep  the  present  social  machinery  at  work,  it 
is  true,  but  in  the  long  run  the  fuel  will  prove  too 
dear,  and  the  machine  come  to  a  standstill.  The 
society  of  the  future  will  not  need  this  machine  in 
order  to  work  or  they  will  be  more  sparing  of  the 
fuel.  But  it  is  a  mistake  to  conjecture  the  needs 
of  a  future  state  of  society  from  the  present  one. 

Our  present  society  is  perhaps  a  natural  product, 
but  inorganic ;  the  future  society  will  be  an  organic 
product  and  a  higher  one,  for  it  will  not  deprive 
men  of  the  first  conditions  for  an  organic  existence. 
There  will  be  the  same  difference  between  these  two 
forms  of  society  as  between  paved  streets  and  grass 
meadows. 

The  3^outh's  dream  often  left  artificial  society 
to  wander  at  large  in  nature.  Society  had  been 
formed  by  men  doing  violence  to  natural  laws, 
just  as  one  may  bleach  a  plant  under  a  flower-pot 
and  produce  an  edible  salad,  but  the  plant's  capacity 
to  live  healthily  and  propagate  itself  as  a  plant  is 
destroyed.  Such  a  plant  is  the  civilised  man  made 
by  artificial  bleaching  useful  for  an  ansemic  society, 
but,  as  an  individual,  wretched  and  unhealthy. 
Must  the  process  of  bleaching  continue  in  order  to 
insure  the  existence  of  this  decayed  society  ?  Must 
the  individual  remain  wretched  in  order  to  maintain 
an  unhealthy  society  ?  For  how  can  society  be 
healthy   when  its  individual  members  are  ailing  ? 


IN   THE   FORECOURT  23 

A  single  individual  cannot  demand  that  society 
should  be  sacrificed  for  his  sake,  but  a  majority 
of  individuals  have  a  right  to  bring  about  such 
changes  in  the  society,  which  they  themselves 
compose,  as  may  be  beneficial  to  themselves. 

Under  the  simpler  conditions  of  country  life  John 
believed  he  could  be  happy  in  an  obscure  post, 
without  feeling  that  he  had  sunk  in  the  social  scale. 
But  he  could  not  be  so  in  the  town  where  he  would 
be  continually  reminded  of  the  height  from  which 
he  had  fallen.  To  come  down  voluntarily  is  not 
painful  if  the  onlookers  can  be  persuaded  that  it 
is  voluntarily,  but  to  fall  is  bitter,  especiall}^  as  a 
fall  always  arouses  satisfaction  in  those  standing 
below.  To  mount,  strive  upwards  and  better  one's 
position  has  become  a  social  instinct,  and  the  youth 
felt  the  force  of  it,  though  in  his  view  the  "  upper  " 
was  not  always  higher. 

John  wished  now  to  realise  some  result, — an 
active  life  which  should  bring  him  an  income.  He 
looked  through  many  advertisements  for  teachers 
in  elementar}'  schools.  Positions  were  advertised 
to  which  were  attached  salaries  of  300  or  600  kronas, 
a  house,  a  meadow  and  a  garden.  He  tried  for  one  of 
these  places  after  another  but  obtained  no  answer. 

When  the  term  was  over  and  his  80  kronas  spent, 
he  returned  home,  not  knowing  whither  to  turn, 
what  he  should  become,  or  how  he  should  live.  He 
had  glanced  in  the  forecourt  and  seen  that  there 
was  no  room  in  it  for  him. 


CHAPTER   II 

BELOW   AND    ABOVE 

"  Are  you  a  complete  scholar  now  ?  "  With 
this  and  similar  questions  John  was  greeted  ironically 
on  his  return  home.  His  father  took  the  matter 
seriously  and  strove  to  frame  plans  without  coming 
to  any  result.  John  was  a  student ;  that  was  a 
fact ;  but  what  was  to  follow  ? 

It  was  winter,  and  so  the  white  student  cap  could 
not  bestow  on  him  a  mild  halo  of  glory  or  bring  any 
honour  to  the  family.  Some  one  has  asserted  that 
war  would  cease  if  uniforms  were  done  away  with ; 
and  it  is  certain  there  would  not  be  so  many  students 
if  they  had  no  outward  sign  to  parade.  In  Paris 
where  they  have  none,  they  disappear  in  the  crowd, 
and  no  one  makes  a  fuss  about  them ;  in  Berlin  on 
the  other  hand,  they  have  a  privileged  place  by  the 
side  of  officers.  Therefore  also  Germany  is  a  land 
of  professors  and  France  of  the  bourgeois. 

John's  father  now  saw  that  he  had  educated  a 
good-for-nothing  for  society  who  could  not  dig, 
but  perhaps  was  not  ashamed  to  beg.  The  world 
stood  open  for  the  3'outh  to  starve  or  to  perish  in. 
His  father  did  not  like  his  idea  of  becoming  an 
elementar}'  school-teacher.  Was  that  to  be  the 
only    result    of    so    much    work  ?     His    ambitious 

24 


BELOW  AND  ABOVE  25 

dreams  received  a  shock  from  the  idea  of  such  a 
come-doAMi.  An  elementary  school-teacher  was 
on  a  level  with  a  sergeant,  on  a  plane  from  which 
there  was  no  hope  of  mounting.  Climb  one  must 
as  long  as  others  did ;  one  must  climb  till  one  broke 
one's  neck,  so  long  as  society  was  divided  into 
ranks  and  classes.  John  had  not  passed  the 
student's  examination  for  the  sake  of  knowledge, 
but  of  belonging  to  the  upper  class,  and  now  he 
seemed  to  be  meditating  a  descent  to  the  lower. 

It  became  painful  for  him  at  home  for  he  felt 
as  though  he  were  eating  the  bread  of  charity  when 
Christmas  was  over,  and  he  could  no  longer  be  re- 
garded as  a  Christmas  guest. 

One  day  he  accidentally  met  in  the  street  a  school- 
teacher whom  he  Imew,  and  whom  he  had  not  seen 
for  a  long  time.  They  talked  about  the  future  and 
Jolm's  friend  suggested  to  him  a  post  in  the  Stock- 
holm elementary  school  as  suitable  for  him  while 
reading  for  his  degree.  He  would  get  a  thousand 
kronas  salary  and  have  an  hour  to  himself  daily. 
John  objected  "  Anywhere  except  in  Stockholm." 
His  friend  replied  that  several  students  had  been 
teachers  in  the  elementary  school,  "  Really  !  then 
he  would  have  companions  in  misfortune."  Yes, 
and  one  had  come  from  the  New  Elementary  School 
where  he  was  a  teacher.  John  went,  made  an 
application,  and  was  appointed  with  a  salary  of 
900  kronas.  His  father  approved  his  decision  when 
he  heard  that  it  would  help  him  to  read  for  his 
degree,  and  John  undertook  to  live  as  a  boarder  at 
home. 


26  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

One  winter  morning  at  half -past  eight,  John 
went  doAvn  the  Nordtullsgata  to  the  Clara  School, 
exactly  as  he  had  done  when  he  was  eight  years 
old.  There  were  the  same  streets  and  the  same 
Clara  bells,  and  he  was  to  teach  the  lowest  class  ! 
It  was  like  being  put  back  to  learn  a  lesson  of  eleven 
years  ago.  Just  as  afraid  as  then, — yes,  more 
afraid  of  coming  too  late  he  entered  the  large  class- 
room, where  together  with  two  female  teachers 
he  was  to  have  the  oversight  of  a  hundred  children. 
There  they  sat, — children  like  those  in  the  Jakob 
School,  but  younger.  Ugly,  stunted,  pale,  swollen, 
sickly,  with  cast-down  looks,  in  coarse  clothes  and 
heavy  shoes.  Suffering,  most  probably,  suffering  from 
the  consciousness  that  others  were  more  fortunate, 
and  would  always  be  so,  as  one  then  believed,  had 
impressed  on  their  faces  the  stamp  of  pain,  which 
neither  religious  resignation  nor  the  hope  of  heaven 
could  obliterate.  The  upper  classes  avoided  them 
with  a  bad  conscience,  built  themselves  houses  out- 
side the  town,  and  left  it  to  the  professional  over- 
seers of  the  poor  to  come  in  contact  with  these 
outcasts. 

A  hymn  was  sung,  the  Lord's  Prayer  was  read ; 
everything  was  as  before ;  no  progress  had  been 
made  except  that  the  forms  had  been  exchanged 
for  seats  and  desks,  and  the  room  was  light  and 
airy.  John  had  to  fold  his  hands  and  join  in  the 
hymn,  thus  already  being  obliged  to  do  violence 
to  his  conscience.  Prayers  over,  the  head-master 
entered.  He  spoke  to  John  in  a  fatherly  way  and 
as   his   superintendent   gave   him   instruction   and 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  27 

advice.  This  class,  he  said,  was  the  worst,  and  the 
teacher  must  be  strict. 

So  John  took  his  class  into  a  special  room  to  begin 
the  lesson.  The  room  was  exactly  like  that  in  the 
Clara  School,  and  there  stood  the  dreadful  desk 
with  steps,  which  resembled  a  scaffold  and  M^as 
painted  red  as  though  stained  with  blood.  A  stick 
was  put  into  his  hand  with  which  he  might  rap  or 
strike  as  he  chose.  He  mounted  the  scaffold.  He 
felt  shy  before  the  thirsty  faces  of  girls  and  boys 
opposite  who  looked  curiously  at  him,  to  see  if  he 
were  going  to  worry  them. 

"  What  is  your  lesson  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  first  commandment,"  the  whole  class 
exclaimed. 

"  Onl}'  one  must  answer  at  a  time.  You,  top 
boy,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Hallberg,"  cried  the  whole  class. 

"  No,  only  one  at  a  time, — the  one  I  ask." 

The  children  giggled.  "  He  is  not  dangerous," 
they  thought. 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  the  first  commandment  ?  " 
John  asked  the  top  boy. 

"  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  but  Me."  He 
knew  that  then. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  John  asked  again,  trying  to 
lay  as  little  emphasis  as  possible  on  the  "  that." 
Then  he  asked  fifteen  children  the  same  question 
and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed.  John  thought 
this  idiotic.  What  should  he  do  now  ?  Say  what 
he  knew  about  God  ?  But  the  common  point  of 
view  then  was,  that  nothing  was  kno^Mi  about  Him. 


28  THE   GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

John  was  a  theist,  and  still  believed  in  a  personal 
God,  but  could  say  nothing  more.  He  would  have 
liked  to  have  attacked  the  divinity  of  Christ,  but 
would  have  been  dismissed  had  he  done  so. 

A  pause  followed.  There  was  an  unnatural 
stillness  while  he  reflected  on  his  false  position  and 
the  foolish  method  of  teaching.  If  he  had  now  said 
that  nothing  was  know^i  of  God,  the  whole  catechism 
and  Bible  instruction  would  have  been  superfluous- 
They  knew  that  thej^  must  not  steal  or  lie.  Why 
then  make  such  a  fuss  ?  He  felt  a  mad  wish  to  make 
friends  and  fellow-sinners  of  the  children. 

"  What  shall  we  do  now  ?  "  he  said. 

The  whole  class  looked  at  each  other  and  giggled. 
"  This  is  a  jolly  sort  of  teacher,"  they  thought. 

"  What  must  the  teacher  do  when  he  has  heard 
the  lesson  ?  "  he  asked  the  top  boy. 

"  Hm  !  he  generally  explains  it,"  he  and  one  or 
two  others  answered. 

Jolm  could  certainly  explain  the  origin  and 
growth  of  the  conception  of  God,  but  that  would 
not  do. 

"  You  need  not  do  any  more,"  he  said,  "  but 
don't  make  a  noise." 

The  children  looked  at  him,  and  he  at  them 
mutually  smiling. 

"  Don't  you  think  this  is  absurd,"  he  felt  incHned 
to  say,  but  checked  himself  and  onl}^  smiled.  But 
he  collected  himself  when  he  saw  that  the}^  were 
laughing  at  him.  "  This  method  would  not  do," 
he  thought.  So  he  commanded  attention  and  went 
through    the    first    commandment    again    till   each 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  29 

child  had  had  a  question.  After  extraordinary 
exertions  on  his  part,  the  clock  at  last  struck  nine, 
and  the  lesson  was  over. 

Then  the  three  divisions  of  the  class  were  assembled 
in  the  great  hall  to  prepare  for  going  into  the  play- 
ground to  get  fresh  air.  "  Prepare  "  is  the  right 
word  for  such  a  simple  affair  as  going  into  the  play- 
ground demanded  a  long  preparation.  An  exact 
description  would  fill  a  whole  printed  page,  and 
perhaps  be  regarded  as  a  caricature ;  we  will  be  con- 
tent with  giving  a  hint. 

In  the  first  place,  all  the  hundred  children  had  to 
sit  motionless,  absolutely  motionless,  and  silent, 
absolutely  silent,  in  their  seats  as  though  they  were 
to  be  photographed.  From  the  master's  desk  the 
whole  assembly  looked  like  a  grey  carpet  with  bright 
patterns,  but  the  next  moment  one  of  them  moved 
the  head ;  the  offender  had  to  rise  from  his  seat 
and  stand  by  the  wall.  The  total  effect  was  now 
disturbed,  and  there  had  to  be  a  good  many  raps 
with  the  cane  before  two  hundred  arms  lay  parallel 
on  the  desks  and  a  hundred  heads  were  at  right 
angles  with  their  collar-bones.  When  quiet  was  in 
some  degree  restored  a  new  rapping  began  which 
demanded  absolute  quiet.  But  at  the  very  moment 
when  the  absolute  was  all  but  attained,  some  muscle 
grew  tired,  some  nerve  slackened,  some  sinew 
relaxed.  Again  there  was  confusion,  cries,  blows, 
and  a  new  attempt  to  reach  the  absolute.  It  gener- 
ally ended  by  the  female  teacher  (the  males  did  not 
drive  it  so  far)  closing  one  eye  and  pretending  that 
the  absolute  had  been  reached. 


30  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

Then  came  the  important  moment,  when,  at  a 
given  signal  the  whole  hundred  must  spring  from 
their  seats  and  stand  in  order,  but  nothing  more. 
It  was  a  ticklish  moment  when  slates  fell  down  and 
rulers  clattered.  Then  they  had  to  sit  do\^ai  and 
begin  all  over  again  by  keeping  perfectly  still. 

When  they  had  really  got  on  their  legs,  they  were 
marched  off  in  divisions  but  on  tip-toe  without 
exception.  Otherwise  they  had  to  turn  round  and 
sit  down  again,  get  up  again  and  so  on.  They  had 
to  go  on  tip-toe  in  wooden  sabots  and  water-boots. 
It  was  a  great  mistake ;  it  accustomed  the  children 
to  stealthiness  and  gave  their  Avhole  appearance 
something  cat-like  and  deceitful.  In  the  play- 
ground a  teacher  had  to  arrange  those  who  wanted 
to  drink  in  a  straight  line  before  the  water-tap  by 
the  entrance ;  at  the  same  time  the  lavatories  at 
the  other  end  of  the  play -ground  had  to  be  inspected, 
and  games  had  to  be  organised  and  watched  over. 
Then  the  children  were  again  draAvn  up  and  marched 
into  school.  If  it  was  not  done  quietly,  they  had 
to  go  out  again. 

Then  another  lesson  began.  The  children  read 
out  of  a  patriotic  reading-book  the  principal  object 
of  which  seemed  to  be  to  instil  respect  for  the  upper 
classes  and  to  represent  Sweden  as  the  best  country 
in  Europe,  although  as  regards  climate  and  social 
economy,  it  is  one  of  the  Avorst,  its  culture  is  bor- 
rowed from  abroad,  and  all  its  kings  were  of  foreign 
origin.  They  did  not  venture  to  give  such  teaching 
to  the  children  of  the  upper  classes  in  the  Clara 
School  and  the  Lyceum,  but  in  the  Jakob  School 


BELOW  AND  ABOVE  31 

they  had  sufficient  courage  to  make  poor  children 
sing  a  patriotic  song  about  the  Duke  of  Ostgothland. 
In  this  occurred  a  verse  addressed  to  the  crew  of 
the  fleet,  saying  victory  was  sure  in  the  battle  they 
wished  for  "  because  Prince  Oscar  leads  us  on,"  or 
something  of  the  sort. 

Meanwhile  the  reading-lesson  began.  But  just 
at  that  moment  the  head-master  came  in.  John 
wished  to  stop  but  the  head-master  beckoned  to 
him  to  go  on.  The  children  who  had  lost  their 
respect  for  him  after  the  catechism-lesson  were 
inattentive.  Jolm  scolded  them,  but  without  result. 
Then  the  head-master  came  forward  with  a  cane  ; 
took  the  book  from  John  and  made  a  little  speech, 
to  the  effect  that  this  division  was  the  worst,  but 
now  their  teacher  should  see  how  to  deal  with  them. 
The  exercise  which  followed  seemed  to  have  as  its 
object  the  attainment  of  perfect  attention.  The 
absolute  again  seemed  to  be  the  standard  bj^  which 
these  children  were  to  be  trained  in  this  incomplete 
world  of  relativity. 

The  boy  who  was  reading  was  interrupted,  and 
another  name  called  at  random  out  of  the  class. 
To  follow  attentively  was  assumed  to  be  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  by  this  old  man  who  certainly 
must  have  experienced  how  thoughts  wander  their 
own  way  while  the  eyes  pass  over  the  printed  page. 
The  inattentive  one  was  dragged  by  his  hair  or 
clothes  and  caned  till  he  fell  howling  on  the  ground. 

Then  the  head-master  departed  after  recommend- 
ing John  to  use  the  cane  diligently.  There  remained 
nothing  but  to  follow  this  method  or  to  go  ;  the  latter 


32  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

did  not  suit  John's  plans,  therefore  he  remained. 
He  made  a  speech  to  the  children  and  referred  to 
the  head-master.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  you  know 
how  you  must  behave  if  you  want  to  escape  a 
thrashing.  He  who  gets  one,  has  himself  to  thank. 
Don't  blame  me.  Here  is  the  stick,  and  there  is 
your  lesson.  Learn  j'our  lesson  or  you  will  get  the 
stick, — and  it  isn't  my  fault." 

That  was  cunningly  put,  but  it  was  unmerciful, 
for  one  ought  to  have  first  ascertained  how  far  the 
children  could  do  their  work.  The}^  could  not,  for 
they  were  the  most  lively  and  therefore  the  most 
inattentive.  So  the  cane  was  kept  going  all  day, 
accompanied  by  cries  of  pain,  and  fear  on  the  faces 
of  the  innocent.  It  was  terrible  !  To  pay  attention 
is  not  in  the  power  of  the  will,  and  therefore  all  this 
punishment  was  mere  torture.  John  felt  the  ab- 
surdit3^  of  the  part  he  had  to  play,  but  he  had  to 
do  his  duty.  Sometimes  he  was  tired  and  let  things 
go  as  they  liked,  but  then  his  colleagues,  male  and 
female,  came  and  made  friendly  representations. 
Sometimes  he  found  the  whole  thing  so  ridiculous 
that  he  could  not  help  smiling  with  the  children 
while  he  caned  them.  Both  sides  saw  that  they 
were  working  at  something  impossible  and  un- 
necessary, 

Ibsen,  who  does  not  believe  in  the  aristocracy 
of  birth  or  of  wealth,  has  lately  (1886)  expressed  his 
belief  that  the  industrial  class  are  the  true  nobility. 
But  why  should  they  necessarily  be  so  ?  If  to  do 
no  manual  labour  tends  to  degeneration,  perhaps 
degeneration  is  brought  about  even  more  quickly 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  33 

by  excessive  labour  and  want.  All  these  children 
born  of  manual  labourers  looked  more  sickly,  weak 
and  stupid  than  the  upper-class  children  which  he 
had  seen.  One  or  the  other  muscle  might  be  more 
strongly  developed, — a  shoulder-blade,  a  hand,  or 
a  foot, — but  they  looked  anaemic  under  their  pale 
skins.  Many  had  extraordinarily  large  heads  which 
seemed  to  be  swollen  with  water,  their  ears  and 
noses  ran,  their  hands  were  frost-bitten.  The 
various  professional  diseases  of  towTi-labourers 
seemed  to  have  been  inherited  ;  one  saw  in  miniature 
the  gas-worker's  lungs  and  blood  spoilt  by  sulphur- 
fumes,  the  smith's  shoulders  and  feet  bent  out- 
wards, the  painter's  brain  atrophied  by  varnishes 
and  poisonous  colours,  the  scrofulous  eruption  of 
the  chimney  sweeper,  the  contracted  chest  of  the 
book-binder ;  here  one  heard  the  cough  of  the 
workers  in  metal  and  asphalt,  smelt  the  poisons  of 
the  paper-stainer,  observed  the  watch-maker's 
short-sightedness,  in  second  editions,  so  to  speak. 
In  truth  this  was  no  race  to  which  the  future  be- 
longed, or  on  which  the  future  could  build ;  nor  was 
it  a  race  which  could  permanently  increase,  for  the 
ranks  of  the  workers  are  continually  recruited  from 
the  country. 

It  was  not  till  about  two  o'clock  that  the  great 
school-room  was  emptied,  for  it  took  them  about 
an  hour  with  blows  and  raps  to  get  out  of  it  into 
the  street.  The  most  unpractical  part  of  it  was 
that  the  children  had  to  march  into  the  hall  in  troops 
to  get  their  overcoats  and  cloaks,  and  then  march 
into  the  school-room  again,  instead  of  going  straight 


34  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

home.  When  John  got  into  the  street,  he  asked 
himself  "  Is  that  the  celebrated  education  which 
they  have  given  to  the  lower  classes  with  so  much 
sacrifice  ?  "  He  could  ask,  and  he  was  answered, 
"Can  it  be  done  in  an}^  other  way?  "  "No,"  he 
was  obliged  to  answer.  "  If  it  is  your  intention  to 
educate  a  slavish  lower  class,  always  ready  to  obey, 
train  them  with  the  stick, — if  you  mean  to  bring 
up  a  proletariat  to  demand  nothing  of  life,  tell 
them  lies  about  heaven.  Tell  them  that  your 
method  of  teaching  is  ridiculous,  let  them  begin 
to  criticise  or  get  their  way  in  one  point  and  you 
have  taken  a  step  towards  the  dissolution  of  society. 
But  society  is  built  up  upon  an  obedient  conscien- 
tious lower  class ;  therefore  keep  them  down  from 
the  first ;  deprive  them  of  will  and  reason,  and  teach 
them  to  hope  for  nothing  but  to  be  content."  There 
was  method  in  this  madness. 

As  regards  the  instruction  in  the  elementary 
school,  there  was  both  a  good  and  bad  side  to  it ; 
the  good  was  that  they  had  introduced  object- 
teaching  after  the  example  of  Pestalozzi,  Rousseau's 
disciple ;  the  bad,  that  the  students  who  taught 
in  the  elementary  schools  had  introduced  "scientific  " 
teaching.  The  simple  learning  by  heart  of  the 
multiplication  table  was  not  enough ;  it,  together 
with  fractions,  had  to  be  understood.  Understood  ? 
And  yet  an  engineer  who  has  been  through  the 
technical  high  school  cannot  explain  "  why  "  a 
fraction  can  be  diminished  by  three  if  the  sum  of 
the  figures  is  divisible  by  three.  On  this  principle 
seamen  would  not  be  allowed  to  use  logarithm  tables, 


BELOW  AND   ABOVE  35 

because  they  cannot  calculate  logarithms.  To  be 
always  relaying  the  foundation  instead  of  building 
on  what  is  already  laid  is  an  educational  luxury 
and  leads  to  the  over-multiplication  of  lessons  in 
schools. 

Some  one  may  object  that  John  should  first  have 
reformed  himself  as  teacher,  before  he  set  about 
reforming  the  system  of  education ;  but  he  could 
not ;  he  was  a  passive  instrument  in  the  hands  of 
the  superintendent  and  the  school  authorities.  The 
best  teachers,  that  is  to  say,  those  who  forced  the 
worst  (in  this  case  the  best)  results  out  of  the  pupils 
were  the  mieducated  ones  who  came  from  the 
Seminar3^  They  were  not  sceptical  about  the 
methods  in  use  and  had  no  squeamishness  about 
caning,  but  the  children  respected  them  the  most. 
A  great  coarse  fellow  who  had  formerly  been  a 
carriage-maker  had  the  bigger  boys  completely 
under  his  thumb.  The  lower  class  seem  to  have 
really  more  fear  and  respect  for  those  of  their  own 
rank  than  the  upper  class.  Bailiffs  and  foremen 
are  more  awe-imposing  than  superintendents  and 
teachers.  Do  the  lower  classes  see  that  the  superior 
who  has  come  out  of  their  ranks  understands  their 
affairs  better,  and  therefore  pay  him  more  respect  ? 
The  female  teachers  also  enjoyed  more  respect  than 
the  male.  They  were  pedantic,  demanded  absolute 
perfection,  and  were  not  at  all  soft-hearted,  but 
rather  cruel.  They  were  fond  of  practising  the 
refuied  cruelty  of  blows  on  the  palm  of  the  hand 
and  showed  in  so  doing  a  want  of  intelligence  which 
the  most  superficial  study  of  physiology  would  have 


36  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

remedied.  When  a  child  by  involuntary  reflex 
action,  drew  his  fingers  back,  he  was  punished  all 
the  more  for  not  keeping  his  fingers  still.  As  if 
one  could  prevent  blinking,  when  something  blew 
into  one's  eye  !  The  female  teachers  had  the 
advantage  of  knowing  very  little  about  teaching 
and  were  plagued  with  no  doubts.  It  was  not 
true  that  they  had  less  pay  than  the  men  teachers. 
They  had  relatively  more ;  and  if  after  passing  a 
paltry  teacher's  examination  they  had  received 
more  than  the  students,  that  would  have  been  un- 
just. They  were  treated  with  partiality,  regarded 
as  miracles,  when  they  were  competent,  and  received 
allowances  for  travelling  abroad. 

As  comrades,  they  were  friendly  and  helpful  if 
one  was  polite  and  submissive  and  let  them  hold 
the  reins.  There  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of 
flirtation  ;  the  men  saw  them  in  anything  but  becom- 
ing situations,  and  under  an  aspect  which  women 
do  not  usuall}^  show  to  the  other  sex,  viz.  that  of 
jailers.  They  made  notes  of  everything,  prepared 
themselves  for  their  lessons,  were  narrow-minded 
and  content,  and  saw  through  nothing.  It  was  a 
very  suitable  occupation  for  them  under  existing 
circumstances. 

When  John  was  thoroughly  sick  of  caning,  or  could 
not  manage  a  boy,  or  was  in  despair  generally,  he 
sent  the  black  sheep  to  a  female  teacher,  Avho  willingly 
undertook  the  unpleasant  role  of  executioner. 

What  it  is  that  makes  the  competent  teacher  is 
not  clear.  Some  produced  an  effect  by  their  quiet 
manner,  others  by  their  nervousness ;  some  seemed 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  37 

to  magnetise  the  children,  others  beat  them;  some 
imposed  on  them  by  their  age  or  their  manly  appear- 
ance, etc.  The  women  worked  as  women,  i.  e. 
through  a  half-forgotten  tradition  of  a  past  matri- 
archate. 

John  was  not  competent.  He  looked  too  3"onng 
and  was  only  just  nineteen  ;  he  was  sceptical  about 
the  methods  employed  and  everything  else ;  with 
all  his  seriousness  he  was  playful  and  boyish.  The 
M^hole  matter  to  him  was  only  an  employment  by 
the  way,  for  he  was  ambitious  and  wished  to  advance, 
but  did  not  know  in  which  direction. 

Moreover  he  was  an  aristocrat  like  his  con- 
temporaries. Through  education  his  habits  and 
senses  had  been  refined,  or  spoilt,  as  one  may  choose 
to  call  it ;  he  found  it  hard  to  tolerate  unpleasant 
smells,  ugly  objects,  distorted  bodies,  coarse  expres- 
sions, torn  clothes.  Life  had  given  him  much,  and 
these  daily  reminders  of  poverty  plagued  him  like 
an  evil  conscience.  He  himself  might  have  been 
one  of  the  lower  class  if  his  mother  had  married  one 
of  her  own  position. 

"  He  was  proud  "  a  shop-boy  would  have  said, 
who  had  mounted  to  the  position  of  editor  of  a 
paper  and  boasted  that  he  was  content  with  his  lot, 
forgetting  that  he  might  well  be  content  since  he 
had  risen  from  a  low  position.  "  He  was  proud  " 
a  master  shoemaker  would  have  said,  who  would 
have  rather  thro^\Tl  himself  into  the  sea  than  become 
an  apprentice  again.  John  was  proud,  of  that  there 
was  no  doubt,  as  proud  as  the  master  shoemaker, 
but  not  in  such  a  high  degree,  as  he  had  descended 


38  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

from  the  level  of  the  student  to  the  elementary 
school-teacher.  That,  however,  was  no  virtue,  but 
a  necessit}^  and  he  did  not  therefore  boast  of  his 
step  downward,  nor  give  himself  the  air  of  being 
a  friend  of  the  people.  One  cannot  command 
sj^mpathics  and  antipathies,  and  for  the  lower  class 
to  demand  love  and  self-sacrifice  from  the  upper 
class  is  mere  idealism.  The  lower  class  is  sacrificed 
for  the  upper  class,  but  they  have  offered  themselves 
willingly.  They  have  the  right  to  take  back  their 
rights,  but  they  should  do  it  themselves.  No  one 
gives  up  his  position  willingly,  therefore  the  lower 
class  should  not  wait  for  kings  and  the  upper  class 
to  go.     "  Pull  us  down  !  but  all  together." 

If  an  intelligent  man  of  the  upper  class  help  in 
such  an  operation,  those  below  should  be  thankful 
to  him  especially  since  such  an  act  is  liable  to  the 
imputation  of  being  inspired  by  impure  motives. 
Therefore  the  lower  class  should  not  too  narrowly 
inspect  the  motives  of  those  who  help  them ;  the 
result  is  in  all  cases  the  same.  The  aristocrats  seem 
to  have  seen  this  and  therefore  regard  one  of  them- 
selves who  sides  with  the  proletariat  as  a  traitor. 
He  is  a  traitor  to  his  class,  that  is  true ;  and  the 
lower  class  should  put  it  to  his  credit. 

John  was  not  an  aristocrat  in  the  sense  that  he 
used  the  word  "  mob  "  or  despised  the  poor.  Through 
his  mother  he  was  closely  allied  to  them,  but  cir- 
cumstances had  estranged  him  from  them.  That 
was  the  fault  of  class-education.  This  fault  might 
be  done  away  with  for  the  future,  if  elementary 
schools  were  reformed  by  the  inclusion  of  the  know- 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  39 

ledge  of  civil  duties  in  their  programme,  and  by  their 
being  made  obligatory  for  all,  without  exception, 
as  the  militia-schools  are.  Then  it  would  be  no 
longer  a  disgrace  to  become  an  elementary  school- 
teacher as  it  now  is,  and  made  a  matter  of  reproach 
to  a  man  that  he  has  been  one. 

John,  in  order  to  keep  himself  above,  applied 
himself  to  his  future  work.  To  this  end  he  studied 
Italian  grammar  in  his  spare  time  at  the  school. 
He  could  now  buy  books  and  did  so.  He  was 
honest  enough  not  to  construe  these  efforts  at 
climbing  up  as  an  ideal  thirst  for  knowledge  or  a 
striving  for  the  good  of  humanity.  He  simply 
read  for  his  degree. 

But  the  meagre  diet  he  had  lived  on  in  Upsala, 
his  midday  meals  at  6  kronas,  the  milk  and  the 
bread  had  undermined  his  strength,  and  he  was 
now  in  the  pleasure-seeking  period  of  3'outh.  It 
was  tedious  at  home,  and  in  the  afternoons  he  went 
to  the  cafe  or  the  restaurant,  where  he  met  friends. 
Strong  drinks  invigorated  him  and  he  slept  well 
after  them.  The  desire  for  alcohol  seems  to  appear 
regularly  in  each  adolescent.  All  northerners  are 
born  of  generations  of  drinkers  from  the  early 
heathen  times,  when  beer  and  mead  was  drunk, 
and  it  is  quite  natural  that  this  desire  should  be 
felt  as  a  necessity.  With  John  it  was  an  imperious 
need  the  suppression  of  which  resulted  in  a  diminu- 
tion of  strength.  It  may  be  questioned  whether 
abstinence  for  us  may  not  involve  the  same  risk, 
as  the  giving  up  of  poison  for  an  arsenic-eater. 
Probably  the   otherwise   praiseworthy   temperance 


40  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

movement  will  merely  end  in  demanding  modera- 
tion ;  that  is  a  virtue  and  not  a  mere  exhibition  of 
will  power  which  results  in  boasting  and  self- 
righteousness. 

John  who  had  hitherto  only  worn  cast-off  suits, 
began  to  wear  fine  clothes.  His  salary  seemed  to 
him  extraordinarily^  great  and  in  the  magnifying- 
glass  of  his  fancy  assumed  huge  proportions,  with 
the  result  that  he  soon  ran  into  debt.  Debt  which 
grew  and  grew  and  could  never  be  paid,  became 
the  vulture  gnawing  at  his  life,  the  object  of  his 
dreams,  the  wormwood  which  poisoned  his  content. 
What  foolish  hopefulness,  what  colossal  self-deceit 
it  was  to  incur  debts  !  ^Vhat  did  he  expect  ?  To 
gain  an  academic  dignity.  And  then  ?  To  become 
a  teacher  with  a  salary  of  750  kronas  !  Less  than 
he  had  now  !  Not  the  least  trying  part  of  his  work 
was  to  accommodate  his  brain  to  the  capacity 
of  the  children.  That  meant  to  come  down 
to  the  level  of  the  younger  and  less  intelligent, 
and  to  screw  down  the  hammer  so  that  it  might 
hit  the  anvil, — an  operation  which  injured  the 
machine. 

On  the  other  hand  he  derived  real  profit  from 
his  observations  in  the  families  of  the  children, 
whom  his  duty  required  him  to  visit  on  Sundays. 
There  was  one  boy  in  his  class  who  was  the  most 
difficult  of  all.  He  was  dirty  and  ill-dressed, 
grinned  continually,  smelt  badly,  never  knew  his 
lessons  and  was  always  being  caned.  He  had  a 
verj'  large  head  and  staring  eyes  which  rolled  and 
turned  about  continually.     Jolm  had  to  visit  his 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  41 

parents  in  order  to  find  out  the  reason  of  his  irregular 
attendance  at  school  and  bad  behaviour.  He  there- 
fore went  to  the  Apelbergsgata  where  they  kept  a 
public-house.  He  found  that  the  father  had  gone 
to  work,  but  the  mother  was  at  the  counter.  The 
public-house  was  dark  and  evil-smelling,  filled  with 
men  who  looked  threateningly  at  John  as  he  entered 
probabl}^  taking  him  for  a  plain  clothes  policeman. 
He  gave  his  message  to  the  mother  and  was  asked 
into  a  room  behind  the  counter.  One  glance  at  it 
sufficed  to  explain  everything.  The  mother  blamed 
her  son  and  excused  him  alternately  and  she  had 
some  reason  for  the  latter.  The  boy  was  accus- 
tomed to  "  lick  the  glasses," — that  was  the  explana- 
tion and  that  was  enough.  What  could  be  done 
in  such  a  case  ?  A  change  of  dwelling,  better  food, 
a  nurse  to  look  after  him  and  so  on.  All  these 
were  questions  of  money  ! 

Afterwards  he  came  to  the  Clara  poor-house, 
which  was  empty  of  its  usual  occupants  and  pro- 
visionally opened  to  families  because  of  the  want 
of  houses.  Li  a  great  hall  lay  and  stood  quite  a 
dozen  families,  who  had  divided  the  floor  with  strokes 
of  chalk.  There  stood  a  carpenter  with  his  planing- 
bench,  here  sat  a  shoemaker  with  his  board ;  round 
about  on  both  sides  of  the  chalk-line  women  sat 
and  children  crawled.  WTiat  could  John  do  there  ? 
Send  in  a  report  on  a  matter  which  was  perfectly 
well  knouii,  distribute  wood-tickets  and  orders 
for  meat  and  clothing. 

In  Kungsholmsbergen  he  came  across  specimens 
of  proud  poverty.     There  he  was  shown  the  door, 


42  THE   GROWTH    OF   A   SOUL 

"  God  be  thanked,  we  have  no  need  of  charity.  We 
are  all  right." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  you  should  not  lot  your  boy  go 
in  torn  boots  in  winter." 

"  That  is  not  j^our  business,  sir,"  and  the  door 
was  slammed. 

Sometimes  he  saw  sad  scenes, — a  child  sick,  the 
room  full  of  sulphur  fumes  of  coke,  and  all  coughing 
from  the  grandmother  down  to  the  youngest.  What 
could  he  do  except  feel  dispirited  and  make  his 
escape  ?  At  that  period  there  was  no  other  means 
of  help  except  charity ;  writers  who  described  the 
state  of  things,  contented  themselves  with  lamenting 
it ;  no  one  saw  any  hope.  Therefore  there  was 
nothing  to  do  except  to  be  sorry,  help  temporarily, 
and  fly  in  order  not  to  despair. 

All  this  lay  like  a  heavy  cloud  upon  him,  and  he 
lost  pleasure  in  study.  He  felt  there  was  something 
wrong  here,  but  nothing  could  be  done  said  all  the 
newspapers  and  books  and  people.  It  must  be  so 
but  every  one  is  free  to  climb.     You  climb  too  ! 

Time  went  on  and  spring  approached.  John's 
closest  acquaintance  was  a  teacher  from  the  Slöjd 
School.  He  was  a  poet,  well- versed  in  literature, 
and  also  musical.  They  generally  walked  to  the 
Stallmästergården  restaurant,  discussed  literature, 
and  ate  their  supper  there.  "WTiile  John  was 
paying  his  attentions  to  the  waitress,  his  friend 
played  the  piano.  Sometimes  the  latter  amused 
himself  b}^  writing  comic  verses  to  girls.  John 
was  seized  with  a  craze  for  writing  verse  but  could 
not.     The  gift  must  be  born  with  one,  he  thought, 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  43 

and  inspiration  descend  all  of  a  sudden,  as  in  the 
case  of  conversion.  He  was  evidently  not  one  of 
the  elect,  and  felt  himself  neglected  by  nature  and 
maimed. 

One  evening  when  John  was  sitting  and  chatting 
with  the  girl,  she  said  quite  suddenl}'  to  him,  "  Friday 
is  my  birthday ;  you  must  write  some  verses  for 
me." 

"  Yes,"  answered  John,  "  I  will." 

Later  on  when  he  met  his  friend,  he  told  him  of 
his  hasty  promise. 

"  I  will  write  them  for  3'ou,"  he  said.  The  next 
day  he  brought  a  poem,  copied  out  in  a  fine  hand- 
writing and  composed  in  John's  name.  It  was 
piquant  and  amusing.  John  dispatched  it  on  the 
morning  of  the  birthday. 

Li  the  evening  of  the  same  day  both  the  friends 
came  to  eat  their  supper  and  to  congratulate  the 
girl.  She  did  not  appear  for  an  hour  for  she  had  to 
serve  guests.  The  teachers'  meal  was  brought  and 
they  began  to  eat. 

Then  the  girl  appeared  in  the  doorwa}^  and 
beckoned  John  She  looked  almost  severe.  John 
went  to  her  and  they  ascended  a  flight  of  stairs. 
"  Have  you  written  the  verses  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  John. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so.  The  lady  behind  the  buffet 
said  she  had  read  them  two  years  ago  when  the 
teacher  sent  them  to  Majke  who  was  an  ugly  girl. 
For  shame,  John  !  " 

He  took  his  cap  and  wanted  to  rush  out,  but  the 
girl  caught  hold  of  him  and  tried  to  keep  him  back 


44  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

for  she  saw  that  he  looked  deathly  pale  and  beside 
himself.  But  he  wrenched  himself  free  and  hastened 
into  the  Belle vue  Park.  He  ran  into  the  wood 
leaving  the  beaten  tracks.  The  branches  of  the 
bushes  flew  into  his  face,  stones  rolled  over  his  feet, 
and  frightened  birds  rose  up.  He  Avas  quite  wild 
with  shame,  and  instinctively^  sought  the  wood  in 
order  to  hide  himself.  It  is  a  curious  phenomenon 
that  at  the  utmost  pitch  of  despair  a  man  runs  into 
the  wood  before  he  plmiges  into  the  water.  The 
wood  is  the  penultimate  and  the  water  the  ultimate 
resource.  It  is  related  of  a  famous  author,  who 
had  enjoyed  a  twenty  3'ears'  popularity  quietly 
and  proudly,  that  he  was  suddenly  cast  down  from 
his  position.  He  was  as  though  struck  by  a  thunder- 
bolt, went  half -mad  and  sought  the  shelter  of  the 
woods  where  he  recovered  himself.  The  wood  is 
the  original  home  of  the  savage  and  the  enemy  of 
the  plough  and  therefore  of  culture.  When  a  civilised 
man  suddenly  strips  off  the  garb  of  civihsation,  the 
artistically  woven  fabric  of  his  repute,  he  becomes 
in  a  moment  a  savage  or  a  wild  beast.  When  a 
man  becomes  mad,  he  begins  to  throw  off  his  clothes. 
WTiat  is  madness  ?  A  relapse  ?  Yes,  man}'  think 
animals  mad. 

It  was  evening  when  John  entered  the  wood. 
In  the  midst  of  some  bushes  he  laid  down  on  a  great 
block  of  stone.  He  was  ashamed  of  himself, — that 
was  the  chief  impression  on  his  mind.  An  emotional 
man  is  more  severe  with  himself  than  others  think. 
He  scourged  himself  unmercifully.  He  had  wished 
to  shine  in  borrowed  plumage,  and  so  lied ;  and  in 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  45 

the  second  place  he  had  insulted  an  innocent  girl. 
Tlie  first  part  of  the  accusation  affected  him  in  a 
very  sensitive  point, — his  want  of  poetic  capacity. 
He  wished  to  do  more  than  he  could.  He  was 
discontent  with  the  position  which  nature  and  society 
had  assigned  liim.  Yes,  but  (and  now  his  self- 
defence  began  after  the  evening  air  had  cooled  his 
blood),  in  the  school  one  had  been  always  exhorted 
to  strive  upwards ;  those  who  did  so  were  praised, 
and  discontent  with  the  position  one  might  happen 
to  be  in,  was  justified.  Yes  but  (here  the  scourge 
descended  !)  he  had  tried  to  deceive.  To  deceive  ! 
That  was  unpardonable.  He  was  ashamed,  stripped 
and  unmasked  Avithout  any  means  of  retreat.  De- 
ception, falsity,  cheating  !     So  it  was  ! 

As  a  quondam  Christian,  John  was  most  afraid 
of  having  a  fault,  and  as  a  member  of  society  he 
feared  lest  it  should  be  visible.  Everybody  knew 
that  one  had  faults,  but  to  acknowledge  them  was 
regarded  as  a  piece  of  cjTiicism,  for  society  always 
wishes  to  appear  better  than  it  is.  Sometimes, 
however,  society  demanded  that  one  should  confess 
one's  fault  if  one  wished  for  forgiveness,  but  that 
was  a  trick.  Societj^  wished  for  confession  in  order 
to  enjoy  the  punishment,  and  was  very  deceitful. 
John  had  confessed  his  fault,  been  punished,  and 
still  his  conscience  was  mieasy. 

The  second  point  regarding  the  girl  was  also 
difficult.  She  had  loved  him  purely  and  he  had 
insulted  her.  How  coarse  and  vulgar  !  Why  should 
he  think  that  a  waitress  could  not  love  innocently  ? 
His  own   mother   had   been   in   the   same   position 


46  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

as  that  girl.  He  had  insulted  her.  Shame  upon 
him  ! 

Now  he  heard  shouts  in  the  park,  and  his  name 
being  called.  The  girl's  voice  and  his  friend's 
echoed  among  the  trees,  but  he  did  not  answer 
them.  For  a  moment  the  scourge  fell  out  of  his 
hands;  he  became  sobered  and  thought,  "  I  will  go 
back,  we  will  have  supper,  call  Riken  and  drink  a 
glass  with  her,  and  it  will  be  all  over."  But  no  !  He 
was  too  high  up  and  one  cannot  descend  all  at  once. 

The  voices  became  silent.  He  lay  back  in  a  state 
of  semi-stupefaction  and  ground  his  double  crime 
between  the  mill-stones  of  rumination.  He  had 
lied  and  hurt  her  feelings. 

It  began  to  grow  dark.  There  was  a  rustling 
in  the  bushes ;  he  started  and  a  sweat  broke  out 
upon  him.  Then  he  went  out  and  sat  upon  a  seat 
till  the  dew  fell.  He  shivered  and  felt  poorly. 
Then  he  got  up  and  went  home. 

Now  his  head  was  clear  and  he  could  think.  What 
a  stupid  business  it  all  was  !  He  did  not  really  mean 
that  she  should  take  him  for  a  poet,  and  had  been 
quite  ready  to  explain  the  whole  trick.  It  was 
all  a  joke.  His  friend  had  made  a  fool  of  him, 
but  it  did  not  matter. 

When  he  got  home  he  found  his  friend  sleeping 
in  his  bed.  He  wanted  to  rise  but  John  would  not 
let  him.  He  wished  to  scourge  himself  once  more. 
He  lay  on  the  floor,  put  a  cigar-box  under  his  head 
and  drew  a  volunteer's  cloak  over  him.  In  the 
morning  when  he  awoke,  John  asked  in  trembling 
tones,  "  How  did  she  take  it  ?  " 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  47 

"  Ah,  she  laughed ;  then  we  drank  a  glass,  and  it 
was  over.     She  liked  the  verses.'" 

"  She  laughed  !     Was  she  not  angry?  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Then  she  only  humbugged  me." 

John  wished  to  hear  no  more.  This  trifle  had  kept 
him  on  the  rack  for  a  whole  dreadful  night.  He 
felt  ashamed  of  having  asked  whether  she  was 
disquieted  about  him.  But  since  she  had  laughed 
and  drunk  punch  she  could  not  have  been.  Not 
even  anxious  about  his  life  ! 

He  dressed  himself  and  went  down  to  the  school. 

The  habit  of  self-criticism  derived  from  his  religous 
training  had  accustomed  him  to  occup}^  himself 
with  his  ego,  to  fondle  and  cherish  it,  as  though  it 
were  a  separate  and  beloved  personality.  So 
cherished  the  ego  expanded  and  kept  continually 
looking  within  instead  of  without  upon  the  world. 
It  was  an  interesting  personal  acquaintance,  a  friend 
who  must  be  flattered,  but  who  must  also  hear  the 
truth  and  be  corrected. 

It  was  the  mental  malady  of  the  time  reduced 
to  a  system  by  Fichte,  who  taught  that  everything 
took  place  in  the  ego  and  through  the  ego,  without 
which  there  was  no  reality.  It  was  the  formula  for 
romanticism  and  for  subjective  idealism. 

"  I  stood  on  the  shore  under  the  king's  castle," 
"  I  dwell  in  the  cave  of  the  mountain,"  "  I,  small 
boy,  watch  the  door,"  "  I  think  of  the  beautiful 
times," — all  these  phrases  struck  the  same  note. 
Was  this  "  I  "  really  so  proud.  Was  not  the  poet's 
'*  I  "  more  modest  than  the  editor's  royal  "  we  "  ? 


48  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

This  absorption  in  self,  or  the  new  malady  of 
culture,  of  which  much  is  written  nowadaj^s,  has 
been  common  with  all  men  who  have  not  worked 
with  their  bodies.  The  brain  is  only  an  organ  for 
imparting  movement  to  the  muscles.  Now  when 
in  a  civilised  man  the  brain  cannot  act  upon  the 
muscles,  nor  bring  its  power  into  plaj%  there  results 
a  disturbance  of  equilibrium.  The  brain  begins 
to  dream  ;  too  full  of  juices  which  cannot  be  absorbed 
by  muscular  activity,  it  converts  them  involmitarily 
into  systems,  into  thought-combinations,  into  the 
hallucinations  which  haunt  painters,  sculptors  and 
poets.  If  no  outlet  can  be  found,  there  follows 
stagnation,  violent  outbreaks,  depression,  and  at 
last  madness.  Schools  which  are  often  vestibules 
for  asylums,  have  recourse  to  gymnastics,  but  with 
what  result  ?  There  is  no  connection  between  the 
pupil's  cerebral  activity  and  the  muscular  activity 
called  into  play  by  gymnastics ;  the  latter  is  only 
directed  by  another's  will  through  the  word  of 
command. 

All  studious  youths  are  aware  of  this  tendency 
to  congestion  of  the  brain.  It  is  a  good  thing  that 
they  often  go  out  to  improve  or  to  beautify  society, 
but  it  would  be  better  if  the  equilibrium  were 
restored,  and  a  sound  mind  dwelt  in  a  sound  body. 
It  has  been  sought  to  introduce  physical  work  into 
schools  as  a  remedy.  It  would  be  better  to  let 
elementary  knowledge  be  acquired  at  home,  to  make 
the  school  a  day-school,  and  to  let  every  one  look 
after  himself.  For  the  rest  the  emancipation  of 
the  lower  classes  will  compel  the  higher  classes  to 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  49 

undertake  some  of  the  physical  labour  now  carried 
on  by  domestics  and  so  the  equilibrium  will  be 
restored.  That  such  labour  does  not  blunt  the 
intelligence  can  be  easily  seen  by  observing  that 
some  of  the  strongest  minds  of  the  time  have  had 
such  daily  contact  with  reality,  e.g.  Mill  the  civil 
service  official,  Spencer,  the  civil  engineer,  Edison 
the  telegraphist.  The  student  period  of  life,  the 
most  unwholesome  because  not  under  discipline, 
is  also  the  most  dangerous.  The  brain  continually 
takes  in,  without  producing  anything,  not  even 
anything  intellectual,  while  the  whole  muscular 
system  is  unoccupied. 

John  at  this  time  was  suffering  from  an  over- 
production of  thought  and  imagination.  The 
mechanical  school-work  continually  revolving  in  the 
same  circle  with  the  same  questions  and  answers 
afforded  no  relief.  It  increased  on  the  other  hand 
his  stock  of  observations  of  children  and  teachers. 
There  lay  and  fermented  in  his  mind  a  quantity  of 
experiences,  perceptions,  criticisms  and  thoughts 
without  an}^  order.  He  therefore  sought  for  society 
in  order  to  speak  his  mind  out.  But  it  was  not 
sufficient,  and  as  he  did  not  find  any  one  who  was 
willing  to  act  as  a  sounding-board,  he  took  to 
declaiming  poetry. 

In  the  early  sixties  declamation  was  much  the 
fashion.  In  families  they  used  to  read  aloud  "  The 
Kings  of  Salamis."  In  the  numerous  volunteer 
concerts  the  same  pieces  were  declaimed  over  and 
over  again.  These  declamations  were  what  the 
quartette  singing  had  been,  an  outlet  for  all  the  hope 

E 


50  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

and  enthusiasm  called  forth  by  the  awakening  of 
1865.  Since  Swedes  are  neither  born  nor  trained 
orators,  they  became  singers  and  reciters,  perhaps 
because  their  want  of  originality  sought  a  ready- 
made  means  of  expression.  They  could  execute 
but  not  create.  The  same  want  of  originality 
showed  itself  in  the  bachelor's  gatherings  where 
reciters  of  anecdotes  were  much  in  request.  This 
feeble  and  tedious  form  of  amusement  was  super- 
seded when  the  new  questions  of  the  day  provided 
food  for  conversation  and  discussion. 

One  day  John  came  to  his  friend  the  elementary 
school-teacher  whom  he  found  together  with  another 
young  colleague.  When  the  conversation  began  to 
slacken,  his  friend  produced  a  volume  of  Schiller, 
whose  poems  had  just  then  appeared  in  a  cheap 
edition  and  were  bought  mostly  for  that  reason. 
They  opened  "  The  Robbers  "  and  read  round  in 
turn,  John  taking  the  part  of  Karl  Moor.  The  first 
scene  of  the  first  act  took  place  between  old  Moor 
and  Franz.  Then  came  the  second  scene  :  John 
read,  "  I  am  sick  of  this  quill-driving  age  when  I 
read  of  great  men  in  Plutarch."  He  did  not  know 
the  play  and  had  never  seen  bandits.  At  first  he 
read  absent-mindedly,  but  his  interest  was  soon 
aroused.  The  play  struck  a  new  note.  He  found 
his  obscure  dreams  expressed  in  words  ;  his  rebellious 
criticisms  printed.  Here  then  was  another,  a  great 
and  famous  author  who  felt  the  same  disgust  at  the 
whole  course  of  education  in  school  and  university 
as  he  did,  who  would  rather  be  Robinson  Crusoe 
or  a  bandit  than  be  enrolled  in  this  army  which  is 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  51 

called  society.  He  read  on ;  his  voice  shook,  his 
cheeks  glowed,  his  breast  heaved  :  "  They  bar  out 
healthy  nature  with  tasteless  conventionalities."  .  .  . 
There  it  stood  all  in  black  and  white.  "  And  that 
is  Schiller  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  the  same  Schiller  who 
wrote  the  tedious  history  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War, 
and  the  tame  drama  "  Wallenstein  "  which  is  read 
in  schools  !  "  Yes,  it  was  the  same  man.  Here 
(in  "  The  Robbers  '')  he  preached  revolt,  revolt 
against  law,  society,  morals  and  religion.  That 
was  in  the  revolt  of  1781  eight  years  before  the  great 
revolution.  That  was  the  anarchists'  programme  a 
hundred  j^ears  before  its  time,  and  Karl  Moor  was 
a  nihilist.  The  drama  came  out  with  a  lion  on  the 
title-page  and  with  the  inscription  "  In  Tyrannos." 
The  author  then  (1781)  aged  two-and-twenty  had 
to  fly.  There  was  no  doubt  therefore  about  the 
intention  of  the  piece.  There  was  also  another 
motto  from  Hippocrates  which  showed  this  intention 
as  plainly;  "  What  is  not  cured  by  medicine  must 
be  cured  by  iron ;  what  is  not  cured  by  iron  must 
be  cured  b}^  fire." 

That  was  clear  enough  !  But  in  the  preface  the 
author  apologised  and  recanted.  He  disclaimed  all 
sympathy  with  Franz  Moor's  sophisms  and  said 
that  he  wished  to  exhibit  the  punishment  of  wicked- 
ness in  Karl  Moor.  Regarding  religion  he  said, 
"  Just  now  it  is  the  fashion  to  make  religion  a  sub- 
ject for  one's  wit  to  play  upon  as  Voltaire  and 
Frederick  the  Great  did,  and  a  man  is  scarcely 
reckoned  a  genius  unless  he  can  make  the  holiest 
truths  the  object  of  his  godless  satire.  ...  I  hope 


52  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

I  have  exacted  no  ordinary  revenge  for  religion 
and  sound  morality  in  handing  over  these  obstinate 
despisers  of  Scripture  in  the  person  of  this  scoundrelly 
bandit,  to  public  contumely.  Was  then  Schiller 
true  when  he  wrote  the  drama,  and  false  when  he 
wrote  the  preface  ?  True  in  both  cases,  for  man 
is  a  complex  creature,  and  sometimes  appears  in 
his  natural  sometimes  in  his  artificial  character. 
At  his  writing-table  in  loneliness,  when  the  silent 
letters  were  being  written  down  on  paper,  Schiller 
seems  like  other  young  authors  to  have  worked 
under  the  influence  of  a  blind  natural  impulse 
without  regard  to  mens'  opinion,  without  thinking 
of  the  public,  or  laws,  or  constitutions.  The  veil 
was  lifted  for  a  moment  and  the  falsity  of  society 
seen  through  in  its  whole  extent.  The  silence  of 
the  night  when  literary  work — especially  in  youth, — 
is  carried  on,  causes  one  to  forget  the  noisy  artificial 
life  outside,  and  darkness  hides  the  heaps  of  stones 
over  which  animals  which  are  ill-adapted  to  their 
environment  stumble.  Then  comes  the  morning, 
the  light  of  day,  the  street  noises,  men,  friends, 
police,  clocks  striking,  and  the  seer  is  afraid  of  his 
own  thoughts.  Public  opinion  raises  its  cry,  news- 
papers sound  the  alarm,  friends  drop  off,  it  becomes 
lonely  round  one,  and  an  irresistible  terror  seizes 
the  attacker  of  society.  "  If  j^ou  will  not  be  with 
us,"  society  says,  "  then  go  into  the  woods.  If 
you  are  an  animal  ill-adapted  to  its  environment, 
or  a  savage,  we  will  deport  3^ou  to  a  lower  state  of 
society  which  you  will  suit."  And  from  its  own 
point  of  view  society  is  right  and  always  will  be  right. 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  53 

But  the  society  of  the  future  will  celebrate  the 
revolter,  the  individual,  who  has  brought  about 
social  improvement,  and  the  revolter  is  justified 
long  after  his  death. 

In  every  intelligent  ^^outh's  life  there  comes  a 
moment  when  he  is  in  the  transition  stage  between 
family  life  and  that  of  society,  when  he  feels  dis- 
gusted at  artificial  civilisation  and  breaks  out. 
If  he  remains  in  society,  he  is  soon  suppressed  by 
the  united  wet-blankets  of  sentiment  and  anxiety 
about  living ;  he  becomes  tired,  dazzled,  drops  off 
and  leaves  other  young  men  to  continue  the  fight. 
This  unsophisticated  glance  into  things,  this  outbreak 
of  a  healthy  nature  which  must  of  necessity  take 
place  in  an  unspoilt  youth,  has  been  stigmatised 
by  a  name  which  is  intended  to  depreciate  the 
idealistic  impulses  of  youth.  It  is  called  "  spring 
fever  "  by  which  is  meant  that  it  is  only  a  tem- 
porary illness  of  childhood,  a  rising  of  the  vernal 
sap,  which  produces  stoppage  of  the  circulation 
and  giddiness.  But  who  knows  whether  the  youth 
did  not  see  right  before  society  put  out  his  eyes  ? 
And  why  do  they  despise  him  afterwards  ? 

Schiller  had  to  creep  into  a  public  post  for  the 
sake  of  a  living  and  even  eat  the  bread  of  charity 
from  a  duke's  hand.  Therefore  his  writing  degener- 
ated, though  perhaps  not  from  an  aesthetic  or  sub- 
ordinate point  of  view.  But  his  hatred  of  tyrants 
is  everywhere  manifest.  It  declares  itself  against 
Philip  II  of  Spain,  Dorea  of  Genoa,  Gessler  of 
Austria,  but  therefore  ceases  to  be  effective. 
Schiller's  rebellion  which  was  in  the  first  instance 


54  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

directed  against  society,  was  afterwards  directed 
against  the  monarchy  alone.  He  closes  his  career 
with  the  following  advice  to  a  world  reformer  (not, 
however,  till  he  had  seen  the  reaction  which  followed 
the  French  Revolution).  "  For  rain  and  dew  and 
for  the  welfare  of  mankind,  let  heaven  care  to-day, 
my  friend,  as  it  has  alwaj's  done."  Heaven,  the 
unfortunate  old  heaven  will  care  for  it,  just  as  well 
as  it  has  done  before. 

Just  as  a  man  once  does  his  militia  dutj^  at  the 
age  of  twentj^-one,  so  Schiller  did  his.  How  many 
have  shirked  it  ! 

John  did  not  take  the  preface  to  "  The  Robbers  " 
very  seriously  or  rather  ignored  it ;  but  he  took 
Karl  Moor  literally  for  he  was  congenial.  He  did 
not  imitate  him,  for  he  was  so  like  him  that  he  had 
no  need  to  do  so.  He  was  just  as  mutinous,  just 
as  wavering,  and  just  as  ready  at  an  alarm  to  go 
and  deliver  himself  into  the  hands  of  justice. 

His  disgust  at  everything  continually  increased 
and  he  began  to  make  plans  for  flight  from  organised 
society.  Once  it  occurred  to  him  to  journey  to 
Algiers  and  enlist  in  the  Foreign  Legion.  That 
would  be  fine  he  thought  to  live  in  the  desert  in  a 
tent,  to  shoot  at  half -wild  men  or  perhaps  be  shot 
by  them.  But  circumstances  occurred  at  the  right 
moment  to  reconcile  him  again  with  his  environ- 
ment. Through  the  recommendation  of  a  friend 
he  was  ofTered  the  post  of  tutor  to  two  girls  in  a 
rich  and  cultured  family.  The  children  were  to 
be  educated  in  a  new  and  liberal-minded  method 
and  neither  to   go   to  a  girls'  school  nor  have  a 


BELOW  AND   ABOVE  55 

governess.  That  was  an  important  task  to  which 
he  was  called  and  John  did  not  feel  himself  adequate 
to  it ;  besides  which  he  objected  that  he  was  only 
an  elementary  school-teacher.  He  was  answered 
that  his  future  employers  knew  that,  but  were 
liberal-minded.  How  liberal-minded  people  were 
at  that  time  ! 

Now  there  commenced  a  new  double  life  for  him. 
From  the  penal  institution  of  the  elementary  school 
with  its  compulsory  catechism  and  Bible,  its  poverty, 
wretchedness,  and  cruelty,  he  went  to  dinner  at 
one  o'clock,  which  he  swallowed  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  then  b}^  two  o'clock  was  at  his  post  as 
private  tutor,  The  house  was  one  of  the  jfinest  at 
that  time  in  Stockholm  with  a  porter,  Pompeian 
stair-cases  and  painted  windows  in  the  hall.  In 
a  handsome,  large,  well-lighted  corner  room  with 
flowers,  bird-cages  and  an  aquarium  he  was  to  give 
lessons  to  two  well-dressed,  washed  and  combed 
little  girls,  who  looked  cheerful  and  satisfied  after 
their  dinner.  Here  he  could  give  expression  to 
his  own  thoughts.  The  catechism  was  banished, 
and  only  select  Bible  stories  were  to  be  read  together 
with  broad-minded  explanations  of  the  life  and 
teachings  of  the  Ideal  Man,  for  the  children  were 
not  to  be  confirmed,  but  brought  up  after  a  new 
model.  They  read  Schiller  and  were  enthusiastic 
for  William  Tell  and  the  fortunate  little  land  of 
freedom,  John  taught  them  all  that  he  knew  and 
spent  more  time  in  talking  than  in  asking  questions  ; 
he  roused  in  them  the  hopes  of  a  better  future  which 
he  shared  himself. 


56  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

Here  he  obtained  an  insight  into  a  social  circle 
hitherto  unknown  to  him,  that  of  the  rich  and  cul- 
tured. Here  he  found  liberal-mindedness,  courage 
and  the  desire  for  truth.  Down  below  in  the 
elementary  school  they  were  coAvardly,  conservative 
and  untruthful.  Would  the  parents  of  the  children 
be  willing  to  have  religious  teaching  done  away 
with,  even  if  the  school  authorities  recommended 
it  ?  Probably  not.  Must  then  illumination  come 
from  the  upper  classes  ?  Certainly,  though  not  from 
the  highest  class  of  all,  but  from  the  republic  of 
truth-seeking  scientists.  John  saw  that  one  must 
get  an  upper  place  in  order  to  be  heard ;  therefore 
he  must  strive  upwards  or  pull  culture  down  and 
cast  the  sparks  of  it  among  all.  One  needed  to  be 
economically  independent  in  order  to  be  liberally 
minded ;  a  position  was  necessary  in  order  to  give 
one's  words  weight ;  thus  aristocracy  ruled  in  this 
sphere  also. 

There  was  at  that  time  a  group  of  3'oung  doctors, 
men  of  science  and  letters,  and  members  of  parlia- 
ment who  formed  a  liberal  league  without  constitut- 
ing themselves  a  formal  societ3^  They  gave  popular 
lectures,  engaged  not  to  receive  any  honorary 
decorations,  cherished  liberal  views  on  the  subject 
of  the  State  Church  and  wrote  in  the  papers.  Among 
them  were  Axel  Key,  Nordenskiöld,  Christian  Loven, 
Harald  Wieselgren,  Hedlund,  Victor  R3dberg, 
Meijerberg,  Jolin,  and  man}^  less-knowii  names. 
These,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  worked  quietly 
without  creating  excitement.  After  the  reaction 
of  1872  they  fell  off  and  became  tired;  they  could 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  57 

not  join  any  political  party  which  was  rather  an 
advantage  than  otherwise  for  the  country  party 
had  already  begun  to  be  corrupted  by  yearly  visiting 
Stockholm  and  attendance  at  the  court.  They 
now  all  belong  to  the  moderate  or  respectable  liberal 
party,  except  those  of  them  who  have  joined  the 
indifferents,  a  fact  not  to  be  wondered  at,  after  they 
had  for  so  many  years  fought  uselessly  for  nothing. 

Through  the  family  of  his  pupils  John  came  into 
external  touch  with  this  group,  obtained  a  closer 
view  of  them,  and  heard  their  speeches  at  dinners 
and  suppers.  To  John  they  sometimes  seemed 
the  very  men  whom  the  time  needed,  who  would 
first  spread  enlightenment  and  then  work  for  reform. 
Here  he  met  the  superintendent  of  the  elementary 
school  and  was  surprised  at  finding  him  among  the 
liberals.  But  he  had  the  school  authorities  over 
him  and  was  as  good  as  powerless.  At  a  cheerful 
dinner,  when  John  had  plucked  up  heart,  he  wished 
to  have  an  intimate  talk  with  him  and  to  come  to 
an  understanding.  "  Here,"  he  thought,  "  we  can 
play  the  part  of  augurs  and  laugh  with  each  other 
over  our  champagne."  But  the  superintendent  did 
not  want  to  laugh  and  asked  him  to  postpone  the 
conversation  till  they  met  in  the  school.  No,  John 
did  not  want  to  do  that,  for  in  the  school  both  would 
have  other  views,  and  speak  of  something  else. 

John's  debts  increased  and  so  did  his  work.  He 
was  in  the  school  from  eight  till  one  ;  then  he  ate  his 
dinner  and  went  to  give  his  private  lessons  within 
half-an-hour,  arriving  out  of  breath,  with  food  half 
digested,  and  sleepy ;  then  he  taught  till  four  o'clock 


58  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

going  out  afterwards  to  give  more  lessons  in  the 
Nordtiillsgata ;  he  returned  to  his  girl  pupils  in  the 
evening,  and  then  read  far  into  the  night  for  his 
examination  after  ten  hours'  teaching.  That  was 
over-work.  The  pupil  thinks  his  A^ork  hard,  but 
he  is  only  the  carriage  while  the  teacher  is  the 
horse.  Teaching  is  decidedlj"  harder  than  standing 
by  a  screw  or  the  crane  of  a  machine,  and  equally 
monotonous. 

His  brain,  dulled  by  work  and  disturbed  digestion, 
needed  to  be  roused,  and  his  strength  needed  re- 
plenishing. He  chose  the  shortest  and  best  method 
by  going  into  a  cafe,  drinking  a  glass  of  wine,  and 
sitting  for  a  while.  It  was  good  that  there  were 
such  places  of  recreation,  where  3'oung  men  could 
meet  and  fathers  of  families  recruit  themselves  over 
a  newspaper  and  talk  of  something  else  than 
business. 

The  following  summer  he  went  out  to  a  summer 
settlement  outside  the  citj'.  There  he  read  daily 
for  a  couple  of  hours  with  his  girl  pupils  and  a  mIioIc 
number  of  children  besides  them.  The  summer 
settlement  afforded  rich  and  varied  opportmiities 
of  social  intercourse.  It  was  divided  into  three 
camps, — the  learned,  the  esthetic  and  the  civic. 
John  belonged  to  all  three.  It  has  been  asserted 
that  loneliness  injures  the  development  of  character 
(into  an  automaton),  and  it  has  been  also  asserted 
that  much  social  intercourse  is  bad  for  the  develop- 
ment of  character.  Everything  can  be  said  and  can 
be  true  ;  it  all  depends  upon  the  point  of  view.  But 
no  doubt  for  the  development  of  the  soul  into  a 


BELOW   AND   ABOVE  59 

rich  and  free  life  much  social  intercourse  is  necessary. 
The  more  men  one  sees  and  talks  with,  the  more 
points  of  view  and  experiences  one  gains.  Every 
one  conceals  a  grain  of  originality  in  himself,  every 
individual  has  his  o\mi  history.  John  got  on 
equally  well  with  all ;  he  spoke  on  learned  matters 
\vith  the  learned,  discussed  art  and  literature  with 
the  aesthetes,  sang  quartettes  and  danced  with  the 
young  people,  taught  the  children  and  botanised, 
sailed,  rode  and  swam  with  them.  But  after  he 
had  spent  some  time  in  the  rush,  he  withdrew  into 
solitude  for  a  day  or  two  to  digest  his  impressions. 
Those  who  were  really  happy  were  the  townsmen. 
They  came  from  their  work  in  the  town,  shook 
off  their  cares  and  played  in  the  evening.  Old 
Avholesale  merchants  played  in  the  ring  and  sang  and 
danced  like  children.  The  learned  and  the  aesthetic 
on  the  other  hand  sat  on  chairs,  spoke  of  their  work, 
were  worried  by  their  thoughts  as  by  nightmares 
and  never  seemed  to  be  really  happ3^  They  could 
not  free  themselves  from  the  tyranny  of  thought. 
The  tradesmen,  however,  had  preserved  a  little 
green  spot  in  their  hearts  which  neither  the  thirst 
for  gain  nor  speculation  nor  competition  had  been 
able  to  parch  up.  There  was  something  emotional 
and  hearty  about  them  which  Jolm  was  inclined 
to  call  "nature."  They  could  laugh  like  lunatics, 
scream  like  savages,  and  be  swayed  by  the  emotions 
of  the  moment.  They  wept  over  a  friend's  misfor- 
time  or  death,  embraced  each  other  when  delighted 
and  could  be  carried  out  of  themselves  by  a  beautiful 
sunset.     The  professors  sat  in  chairs  and  could  not 


60  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

see  the  landscape  because  of  their  eye-glasses,  their 
looks  were  directed  inwards,  and  they  never  showed 
their  feelings.  They  talked  in  sjdlogisms  and 
formulas ;  their  laughter  was  bitter,  and  all  their 
learning  seemed  like  a  puppet  play.  Is  that  then 
the  highest  point  of  view  ?  It  is  not  a  defect  to 
have  let  a  whole  region  of  the  soul's  life  lie  fallow  ? 

It  was  the  third  camp  with  which  John  was  on  the 
most  intimate  terms.  This  was  a  little  clique 
consisting  of  a  doctor's  family  and  their  friends. 
There  sang  the  renowned  tenor  W.  while  Professor 
M.  accompanied  him ;  there  pla3Td  and  sang  the 
composer  J. ;  there  the  old  Professor  P.  talked  about 
his  journeys  to  Rome  in  the  company  of  painters 
of  high  birth.  Here  tlie  emotions  had  full  play, 
but  were  under  the  control  of  good  taste.  They 
enjoyed  the  sunsets,  but  analysed  the  lights  and 
shades  and  talked  of  lines  and  "  values."  The 
more  noisy  enjoyments  of  the  tradesmen  were  re- 
garded as  disturbing  and  unsesthetic.  They  were 
enthusiasts  for  art.  John  spent  some  hours  pleas- 
antly with  these  amiable  people,  but  when  he  heard 
the  sound  of  quartette  singing  and  dance-music 
from  the  villa  close  by,  he  longed  to  be  there.  That 
was  certainly  more  lively. 

In  hours  of  solitude  he  read,  and  now  for  the 
first  time,  became  reall}^  acquainted  with  Byron. 
"  Don  Juan,"  which  he  already  knew,  he  had  found 
merely  frivolous.  It  really  dealt  with  nothing 
and  the  descriptions  of  scenery  were  intolerably 
long.  The  work  seemed  merely  a  string  of  adven- 
tures and  anecdotes.     In  "  Manfred  "  he  renewed 


BELOW  AND  ABOVE  61 

acquaintance  with  Karl  Moor  in  another  dress. 
Manfred  was  no  hater  of  men  ;  he  hated  himself 
more,  and  went  to  the  Alps  in  order  to  fly  himself, 
but  always  found  his  guilty  self  beside  him,  for 
John  guessed  at  once  that  he  had  been  guilty  of 
incest.  Nowadays  it  is  generally  believed  that 
Byron  hinted  at  this  crime,  which  was  purely 
imaginary,  in  order  to  make  himself  appear  interest- 
ing. To  become  interesting  as  a  romanticist  at 
whatever  price  would  at  the  present  time  be  called 
"  differentiating  oneself ,  going  beyond  and  above  the 
others."  Crime  was  regarded  as  a  sign  of  strength, 
therefore  it  was  considered  desirable  to  have  a 
crime  to  boast  about,  but  not  such  a  one  as  could 
be  punished.  They  did  not  want  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  police  and  penal  servitude.  There 
was  certainly  a  spirit  of  opposition  to  law  and 
morality  in  this  boasting  of  crime. 

Manfred's  discontent  with  heaven  and  the  govern- 
ment of  Providence  pleased  Jolm.  Manfred's  de- 
nunciations of  men  were  really  levelled  at  society, 
though  society  as  we  now  understand  it,  had  not 
then  been  discovered.  Rousseau,  Byron  and  the 
rest  were  by  no  means  discontented  misogynists. 
It  was  only  primitive  Christianity  which  demanded 
that  men  should  love  men.  To  say  that  one  was 
interested  in  them  would  be  more  modest  and 
truthful.  One  who  has  been  overreached  and 
thrust  aside  in  the  battle  of  life  may  well  fear  men, 
but  one  cannot  hate  them  when  one  realises  one's 
solidarity  with  humanity  and  that  human  inter- 
course is  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life.     Byron  was 


62  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

a  spirit  who  awoke  before  the  others  and  might 
have  been  expected  to  hate  his  contemporaries,  but 
none  the  less  strove  and  suffered  for  the  good  of 
all. 

When  John  saw  that  the  poem  was  written  in 
blank  verse  he  tried  to  translate  it,  but  had  not  got 
far,  before  he  discovered  that  he  could  not  write 
verse.  He  was  not  "  called."  Sometimes  melan- 
chol}^,  sometimes  frisk}^,  John  felt  at  times  an  uncon- 
trollable desire  to  quench  the  burning  fire  of  thought 
in  intoxication  and  bring  the  working  of  his  brain 
to  a  standstill.  Though  he  was  shy,  he  felt  occa- 
sionally impelled  to  step  forward,  to  make  himself 
impressive,  to  collect  hearers  and  appear  on  a  stage. 
When  he  had  drunk  a  good  deal,  he  wanted  to 
declaim  poetrj'  in  the  grand  stylo.  But  in  the  middle 
of  the  piece,  when  his  ecstasj^  was  at  its  highest,  he 
heard  his  own  voice,  became  nervous  and  embar- 
rassed, found  himself  ridiculous,  suddenly  dropped 
into  a  prosaic  and  comic  tone  and  ended  with  a 
grimace  ;  he  could  be  pathetic,  but  only  for  a  while  ; 
then  came  self-criticism  and  he  laughed  at  his  own 
overwrought  feelings.  The  romantic  was  in  his  blood, 
but  the  realistic  side  of  him  was  about  to  wake  up. 

He  was  also  liable  to  attacks  of  caprice  and  self- 
punishment.  Thus  he  remained  away  from  a  dinner 
to  which  he  had  been  invited  and  lay  in  his  room 
hungry  till  the  evening.  He  excused  himself  by 
sa^'ing  that  he  had  overslept. 

The  summer  approached  its  end  and  he  looked 
forward  to  the  beginning  of  the  autumn  term  in 
the  elementary  school  with  dread.     He  had  now 


BELOW  AND   ABOVE  63 

been  in  circles  where  poverty  never  showed  its 
emaciated  face ;  he  had  tasted  the  enticing  wine  of 
culture  and  did  not  wish  to  become  sober  again. 

His  depression  increased ;  he  retired  into  himself 
and  withdrew  from  the  circle  of  his  friends.  But 
one  evening,  there  was  a  knock  at  his  door ;  the  old 
doctor  who  had  been  his  most  intimate  friend  and 
lived  in  the  same  villa,  stepped  in. 

"  How  are  the  moods  ?  "  he  asked,  and  sat  down 
with  the  air  of  an  old  fatherly  friend. 

John  did  not  wish  to  confess.  How  was  he  to 
say  that  he  was  discontented  with  his  position,  and 
acknowledge  that  he  was  ambitious  and  wished 
to  advance  in  life  ?  But  the  doctor  had  seen  and 
understood  all.  "  You  must  be  a  doctor,"  he  said. 
"  That  is  a  practical  vocation  which  will  suit  you, 
and  bring  you  into  touch  with  real  life.  You  have 
a  lively  imagination  which  you  must  hold  in  check, 
or  it  will  do  harm.  Now  are  you  inclined  to  this  ? 
Have  I  guessed  right  ?  " 

He  had.  Through  his  intercourse  from  afar  with 
these  new  prophets  who  succeeded  the  priests  and 
confessors,  John  had  come  to  see  in  their  practical 
knowledge  of  men's  lives,  the  highest  pitch  of  human 
Avisdom.  To  become  a  wise  man  who  could  solve 
the  riddles  of  life, — that  was  for  a  while  his  dream. 
For  a  while,  for  he  did  not  really  wish  to  enter  any 
career  in  which  he  could  be  enrolled  as  a  regular 
member  of  society.  It  was  not  from  dislike  of  work, 
for  he  worked  strenuously  and  was  unhappy  when 
imoccupied,  but  he  had  a  strong  objection  to  be 
enrolled.     He  did  not  wish  to  be  a  cypher,  a  cog- 


64  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

wheel,  or  a  screw  in  the  social  machine.  He  wished 
to  stand  outside  and  contemplate,  learn  and  preach. 
A  doctor  was  in  a  certain  sense  free ;  he  was  not  an 
official,  had  no  superiors,  set  in  no  public  office,  was 
not  tied  by  the  clock.  That  was  a  fairly  enticing 
prospect,  and  John  was  enticed.  But  how  was  he 
to  take  a  medical  degree,  which  required  eight 
years'  study  ?  His  friend,  however,  had  seen  a 
way  out  of  this  difficulty.  "  Live  with  us  and 
teach  my  boys,"   he  said. 

This  was  certainly  a  business-like  offer  which 
carried  with  it  no  sense  of  accepting  a  humiliating 
favour.  But  what  about  his  place  in  the  school  ? 
Should  he  give  it  up  ? 

"  That  is  not  your  place  !  "  the  doctor  cut  him 
short.  "  Every  one  should  work  where  his  talents 
can  have  free  scope,  and  yours  cannot  in  the 
elementary  school,  where  you  have  to  teach,  as 
prescribed  by  the  school  authorities." 

John  found  this  reasonable,  but  he  had  been  so 
imbued  with  ascetic  teaching  that  he  felt  a  pang  of 
conscience.  He  wanted  to  leave  the  school,  but 
a  strange  feeling  of  duty  and  obligation  held  him 
back.  He  felt  quite  ashamed  of  being  suspected 
of  such  a  natural  weakness  as  ambition.  And  his 
place,  as  the  son  of  a  servant,  had  been  assigned  to 
him  below.  But  his  father  had  literally  pulled  him 
up,  why  should  he  sink  and  strike  his  roots  down 
there  again  ? 

He  fought  a  short  bloody  conflict,  then  accepted 
the  offer  thankfully,  and  sent  in  his  resignation  as 
a  school-teacher. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   DOCTOR 

(1868) 

John  now  found  his  new  home  with  the  homeless, 
the  Israelites.  He  was  immediately  surrounded 
by  a  new  atmosphere.  Here  there  was  no  recollec- 
tion of  Christianity;  one  neither  plagued  oneself 
or  others ;  there  was  no  grace  at  meals,  no  going  to 
church,  no  catechism. 

"  It  is  good  to  be  here,"  thought  Jolui.  "  These 
are  liberal-minded  men  who  have  brought  the  best 
of  foreign  culture  home,  without  being  obliged  to 
take  what  is  bad.  Here  for  the  first  time,  he 
encomitered  foreign  influences.  The  family  had 
journeyed  much,  had  relatives  abroad,  spoke  all 
languages,  and  received  foreign  guests.  Both  the 
small  and  great  affairs  of  the  comitry  were  spoken 
about,  and  light  thrown  on  them  bj'-  comparison 
with  their  originals  abroad.  Bj-  this  means  John's 
mental  horizon  was  widened  and  he  was  enabled 
to  estimate  his  native  country  better. 

The  patriarchal  constitution  of  the  family  had 
not  assumed  the  form  of  domestic  tyranny.  On 
the  contrary  the  children  treated  their  parents 
more  as  their  equals,  and  the  parents  were  gentle 
with   them    without    losing   their   dignity.     Placed 

F  G5 


66  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

in  an  unfriendly  part  of  the  world,  surrounded  by 
half -enemies,  the  members  of  the  family  helped 
each  other  and  held  together.  To  be  without  a 
native  country,  which  is  regarded  as  such  a  hard- 
ship, has  this  advantage  that  it  keeps  the  intelligence 
alive  and  vigorous.  Men  who  are  wanderers  have 
to  watch  miceasingly,  observe  continuall}',  and  gain 
new  and  rich  experiences,  while  those  who  sit  at 
home  become  lazy  and  lean  upon  others. 

The  children  of  Israel  occupy  a  peculiar  and 
exceptional  position  from  a  social  point  of  view. 
They  have  forgotten  the  Messianic  promise  and  do 
not  believe  in  it.  In  most  European  countries  they 
have  remained  among  the  middle  classes ;  to  join 
the  lower  classes  was  for  the  most  part  denied  them, 
though  not  so  widely  as  is  generally  believed.  Nor 
could  they  join  the  upper  classes ;  therefore  they 
feel  related  to  neither  of  the  latter.  They  are 
aristocrats  from  habit  and  inclination,  but  have 
the  same  interests  as  the  lower  classes,  i.  e.  they 
wish  to  roll  away  the  stone  which  lies  upon  and 
presses  them.  But  they  fear  the  proletariat  who 
have  no  religious  sense  and  who  do  not  love  the 
rich.  Therefore  the  children  of  Abraham  rather 
aspire  to  those  above  them,  than  seek  sympathy 
from  those  below. 

About  this  time  (1868)  the  question  of  Jewish 
emancipation  began  to  be  raised.  All  liberals  sup- 
ported it  and  it  was  practically  a  discarding  of 
Chri^tianit3^  Baptism,  ecclesiastical  marriage,  con- 
firmation, church  attendance  were  all  declared  to 
be    unnecessary   conditions   for   membership   in    a 


THE   DOCTOR  67 

Christian  community.  Such  apparently  small  re- 
forms make  an  impression  on  the  state,  like  the 
dropping  of  water  on  a  rock. 

At  that  time  a  cheerful  tone  prevailed  in  the 
family,  the  sons  having  a  brighter  future  in  prospect 
than  their  fathers,  whose  academic  course  had  been 
hindered  by  State  regulations. 

A  liberal  table  was  kept  in  the  house ;  everything 
was  of  the  best  quality,  and  there  was  plenty  of  it. 
The  servants  managed  the  house  and  were  allowed 
a  free  hand  in  everything ;  they  were  not  regarded 
as  servants.  The  housemaid  was  a  pietist  and 
allowed  to  be  so,  as  much  as  she  pleased.  She  was 
good-natured  and  humorous,  and,  illogically  enough, 
adopted  the  jesting  tone  of  the  cheerful  paganism 
which  reigned  in  the  house.  On  the  other  hand, 
no  one  laughed  at  her  belief.  John  himself  was 
treated  as  an  intimate  friend  and  a  child  alternately 
and  lived  with  the  boys.  His  work  was  easy  and 
he  was  rather  required  to  keep  the  boys  company 
than  to  give  them  lessons.  Meanwhile  he  became 
somewhat  "  spoiled  "  as  people,  who  have  the 
usual  idea  of  keeping  youth  in  the  background, 
call  it.  Though  only  nineteen,  he  was  received 
on  an  equal  footing  among  well-known  and  mature 
artists,  doctors,  litterateurs  and  officials.  He  be- 
came accustomed  to  regard  himself  as  grown  up, 
and  therefore  the  set-backs  he  encountered  after- 
wards, were  the  harder  to  bear. 

His  medical  career  began  with  chemical  experi- 
ments in  the  technological  institute.  There  he 
obtained  a  closer  view  of  some  of  the  glories  he  had 


68  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

dreamed  of  in  his  childhood.  But  how  dry  and 
tedious  were  the  rudiments  of  science  !  To  stand 
and  pour  acids  on  salts  and  to  watch  the  solution 
change  colour,  was  not  pleasant ;  to  produce  salts 
from  two  or  more  solutions  was  not  very  interesting. 
But  later  on,  when  the  time  came  for  anal3'sis,  the 
mj'sterious  part  began.  To  fill  a  glass  about  the 
size  of  a  punch-bowl  with  a  liquid  as  clear  as  water 
and  then  to  exhibit  in  the  filter  the  possibly  twenty 
elements  it  contained, — this  really  seemed  like 
penetrating  into  nature's  secrets.  When  he  was 
alone  in  the  laboratory  he  made  small  experiments 
on  his  own  account,  and  it  was  not  long  before  with 
some  danger  he  had  prepared  a  little  phial  of  prussic 
acid.  To  have  death  enclosed  in  a  few  drops  under 
a  glass  stopper  was  a  curiously  pleasant  feeling. 

At  the  same  time  he  studied  zoolog}^  anatomy, 
botany,  ph3^sic  and  Latin, — still  more  Latin  !  To 
read  and  master  a  subject  was  congenial  to  him,  but 
to  learn  by  heart  he  hated.  His  head  was  already 
filled  with  so  many  subjects,  that  it  was  hard  for 
anything  more  to  enter,  but  it  was  obliged  to. 

A  worse  drawback  was  that  so  many  other  interests 
began  to  vie  in  his  mind  with  his  medical  studies. 
The  theatre  was  only  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
doctor's  house  and  he  went  there  twice  a  week. 
He  had  a  standing  place  at  the  end  of  the  third  row. 
From  thence  he  saw  elegant  and  cheerful  French 
comedies  played  on  a  Brussels  carpet.  The  light 
Gallic  humour,  admired  by  the  melancholy  Swedes 
as  their  missing  complement,  completely  captivated 
him.     What  a  mental  equilibrium,  what  a  power 


THE   DOCTOR  69 

of  resistance  to  the  blows  of  fate  were  possessed 
by  this  race  of  a  southern  sunnier  land !  His 
thoughts  became  still  more  gloomy  as  he  grew 
conscious  of  his  Germanic  "  Weltschmerz  "  lying 
like  a  veil  over  everything,  which  a  hundred  years 
of  French  education  could  not  have  lifted.  But  he 
did  not  know  that  Parisian  theatrical  life  differs 
widely  from  that  of  the  industrious  and  thrifty 
Parisian  at  the  desk  and  the  counter.  French 
comedies  were  written  for  the  parvenus  of  the  Second 
Empire ;  politics  and  religion  were  subject  to  the 
censor,  but  not  morals.  French  comedy  was 
aristocratic  in  tone,  but  had  a  liberating  effect  on 
the  mind  as  it  was  in  touch  with  reality,  though 
it  did  not  interfere  in  social  questions.  It  accus- 
tomed the  public  to  sympathise  with  and  feel  at 
home  in  this  superfine  world ;  one  came  to  forget 
the  lower  everj^day  world,  and  when  one  left  the 
theatre  it  felt  as  though  one  had  been  at  supper 
with  a  friendly  duke. 

As  chance  fell  out,  the  doctor's  wife  possessed  a 
good  library  in  which  all  the  best  literature  of  the 
world  was  represented.  It  was  indeed  a  treasure 
to  have  all  these  at  one's  elbow  !  Moreover  the 
doctor  possessed  a  number  of  pictures  by  Swedish 
masters  and  a  valuable  collection  of  engravings. 
There  was  an  efflorescence  of  aestheticism  on  all 
sides,  even  in  the  schools,  where  lectures  on  liter- 
ature were  delivered.  The  conversation  in  the  family 
circle  mostly  turned  on  pictures,  dramas,  actors, 
books,  authors,  and  the  doctor  felt  from  time  to 
time  impelled  to  flavour  it  with  details  of  his  practice. 


70  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

Now  and  then  John  began  to  read  the  papers. 
Political  and  social  life  with  their  various  questions 
opened  up  before  him,  but  at  first  with  a  repelling 
effect,  as  he  was  an  aesthete  and  domestic  egoist. 
Politics  did  not  seem  to  touch  him  at  all ;  he  con- 
sidered it  a  special  branch  of  knowledge  like  any 
other. 

He  continued  his  lessons  to  the  girls  and  his 
intercourse  with  their  family.  Outside  the  house 
he  met  grown  up  relatives,  who  were  tradesmen, 
and  their  acquaintances.  His  circle  was  therefore 
widened,  and  he  saw  life  from  more  than  one  point 
of  view.  But  this  constant  occupation  with  children 
had  a  hampering  effect  on  his  development.  He 
never  felt  himself  older,  and  he  could  not  treat  the 
young  with  an  air  of  superiority.  He  already 
noticed  that  they  were  in  advance  of  him,  that  they 
were  born  with  ncAv  thoughts,  and  that  they  built 
on,  where  he  had  ceased.  When  later  on  in  life, 
he  met  grown-up  pupils,  he  looked  up  to  them  as 
though  they  were  the  older. 

The  autumn  of  1868  had  commenced.  There 
had  been  so  much  miscalculation  as  to  the  effects 
of  the  new  State  constitution  that  there  was  wide- 
spread discontent.  Societj^  was  turned  topsy-turvey. 
The  peasant  threatened  the  civilised  town -dwellers 
and  there  was  a  general  feeling  of  bitterness. 

Has  the  last  word  regarding  the  agrarian  party 
yet  been  said  ?  Probably  not.  It  began  with  a 
democratic  and  reforming  programme  and  its 
attack  on  the  Civil  List  was  the  boldest  stroke 
which  had  yet  been  seen.     It  was  a  legal  attempt 


THE   DOCTOR  71 

to  overthrow  the  monarchy.  If  the  vote  of  siippl}^ 
was  screwed  down  to  the  lowest  possible,  the  king 
would  go.  It  was  a  simple  and  at  the  same  time 
a  clever  stroke. 

At  a  period  which  proclaims  the  right  of  the 
majority,  one  would  not  have  expected  the  peasants' 
cause  would  encounter  resistance.  Sweden  was  a 
kingdom  of  peasants,  for  the  country  population 
numbered  four  millions,  which  in  a  population  of 
four  and  a  half  millions,  is  certainly  the  majority. 
Should  then  the  half  million  rule  the  four  or  vice 
versa  ?  The  latter  course  seemed  the  fairer.  Now 
naturally  the  townsmen  talk  of  the  egotism  and 
tyranny  of  the  peasants,  but  have  the  labour  party 
in  the  town  a  single  item  in  their  programme  to 
improve  the  condition  of  the  peasants  and  cottagers  ? 
It  is  so  stupid  to  talk  of  egotism  when  every  one 
now  sees  that  he  profits  the  whole,  in  proportion 
as  he  profits  himself. 

Meanwhile,  in  1868,  the  malcontents  discovered 
a  party  which  could  be  opposed  to  the  constitutional 
majority  and  whose  programme  contained  all  kinds 
of  thorough-going  reforms.  That  was  the  new 
liberal  party,  consisting  for  the  most  part  of  authors, 
some  artisans,  a  professor,  etc.  By  means  of  this 
handful  of  people  who  had  none  of  the  weighty 
interests  which  landed  property  involves,  and  whose 
social  position  was  so  insecure  that  a  single  unfavour- 
able harvest  could  turn  them  into  members  of  the 
proletariat,  it  was  proposed  to  remodel  society. 
What  did  the  artisans  loiow  about  society  ?  How 
did  they  wish  it  to  be  constituted  ?     Did  they  wish 


72  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

it  to  be  remodelled  in  their  interest,  although  the 
peasantry  should  be  ruined  ?  But  that  meant 
cutting  ofE  their  oa\ii  legs,  for  Sweden  is  not  a  land 
of  exporting  industries.  Therefore  the  four  million 
consumers  m  the  land,  as  soon  as  their  purchasing 
power  was  diminished,  would  involuntarity  ruin  the 
industries  and  leave  the  artisans  stranded.  That 
the  artisans  should  advance  is  a  necessity,  but  to 
wish  to  make  all  men  industrial  workers  as  the 
industrial  socialists  do,  is  much  more  unreasonable 
than  to  make  them  all  peasants  as  the  agrarian 
socialists  purpose  doing.  Capital,  which  the  labour 
party  now  attack,  is  the  foundation  of  industry 
and  if  that  is  touched,  industry  is  overthrown,  and 
then  the  workmen  must  go  back  whence  they  came 
and  still  daily  come, — to  the  countr3\ 

Meanwhile,  the  agrarian  party  was  not  yet  cor- 
rupted by  intercourse  with  aristocrats ;  it  was 
neither  conservative  nor  did  it  make  compromises. 
The  war  seemed  to  be  between  the  country  and  the 
town.  The  atmosphere  was  electric  and  the  smallest 
cause  might  produce  a  thunderstorm. 

In  the  capital  there  prevailed  a  general  desire 
to  erect  a  statue  to  Charles  XII.  Why  ?  Was 
this  last  knight  of  the  Middle  Ages  the  ideal  of  the 
age  ?  Did  the  character  of  the  idol  of  Gustav  IV, 
Adolf,  and  Charles  XV  suitably  express  the  spirit 
of  the  new  peaceful  period  which  now  commenced  ? 
Or  did  the  idea  originate,  as  so  often  is  the  case  in 
the  sculptor's  studio  ?  Who  Imows  ?  The  statue 
was  ready  and  the  unveiling  was  to  take  place. 
Stands  were  erected  for  the  spectators,  but  so  un- 


THE   DOCTOR  73 

skilfully  that  the  ceremony  could  not  be  witnessed 
by  the  general  public,  and  the  space  railed  off  could 
only  contain  the  invited  guests,  the  singers  and 
those  who  paid  for  their  seats.  But  the  subscrip- 
tion had  been  national  and  all  believed  they  had 
a  right  to  see.  The  arrangements  were  obnoxious 
to  the  people.  Petitions  were  made  to  have  the 
stands  removed,  but  without  success.  The  crowd 
began  to  make  attempts  to  tear  them  doMii,  but 
the  military  intervened.  The  doctor  that  day  was 
giving  a  dinner  to  the  Italian  Opera  Company. 
They  had  just  risen  from  dessert  when  a  noise  was 
heard  from  the  street ;  it  was  at  first  like  rain  falling 
on  an  iron  roof,  but  then  cries  were  distinctly  audible. 
John  listened,  but  for  the  moment  nothing  more 
was  to  be  heard.  The  wine-glasses  clinked  amid 
Italian  and  French  phrases  which  flew  hither  and 
thither  over  the  table ;  there  was  such  a  noise  of 
jests  and  laughter  that  those  at  the  table  could 
hardly  hear  themselves  speak.  But  now  there 
came  a  roar  from  the  street,  folloAved  immediately 
by  the  tramp  of  horses,  the  rattle  of  weapons  and 
harness.  There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  a 
moment,  and  one  and  another  turned  pale. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  prima  donna. 

"  The  mob  making  a  noise,"  answered  a  professor. 

John  stood  up  from  the  table,  went  into  his  room, 
took  his  hat  and  stick  and  hurried  out.  "  The 
mob  !  " — the  words  rang  in  his  ear  while  he  went 
down  the  street.  "  The  mob  !  "  They  were  his 
mother's  former  associates,  his  oaati  school-mates 
and  afterwards  his  pupils ;  they  formed  the  dark 


74  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

background  against  which  the  society  he  had  just 
quitted,  stood  out  like  a  brilhant  picture.  He  felt 
again  as  though  he  were  a  deserter,  and  had  done 
wrong  in  working  his  way  up.  But  he  must  get 
above  if  he  was  to  do  anything  for  those  below. 
Yes  many  had  said  that,  but  when  once  thej^  did 
get  above,  they  found  it  so  pleasant,  that  they 
forgot  those  below.  These  cavalrymen,  for  instance, 
whose  origin  was  of  the  humblest,  what  airs  they 
gave  themselves  !  With  what  unmixed  pleasure 
they  cut  down  their  former  comrades,  though  it 
must  be  confessed  they  would  have  even  more 
enjoyed  cutting  down  the  "  black  hats." 

He  went  on  and  came  to  the  market-place.  The 
stands  for  the  spectators  stood  out  against  the 
November  skj^  like  gigantic  market  booths,  and 
the  space  below  swarmed  with  men.  From  the 
opening  of  the  Arsenal  street  the  tramp  of  horses 
was  heard  only  a  short  wa}^  off.  Then  they  came 
riding  forth,  the  blue  guardsmen,  the  support  of 
society,  on  whom  the  upper  class  relied.  John  was 
seized  with  a  wild  desire  to  dash  against  this  mass 
of  horses,  men  and  sabres,  as  though  he  saw  in  them 
oppression  incarnate.  That  was  the  enemy  !  very 
well — at  them  !  The  troop  rode  on  and  John 
stationed  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  Whence 
had  he  derived  this  hatred  against  the  supporters 
of  law  and  order,  who  some  day  would  protect  him 
and  his  rights  after  he  had  clambered  up,  and  was 
in  a  position  to  oppress  others  ?  If  the  mob  with 
whom   he  now    felt    his  solidaritj^  had  had   their 


THE   DOCTOR  75 

hands  free,  they  would  probably  have  thrown  the 
first  stone  through  the  wmdow,  behmd  which  he 
had  sat  ^vith  four  wine-glasses  in  front  of  him. 
Certainly,  but  that  did  not  prevent  his  taking  their 
side  just  as  the  upper  class  often,  inconsistently 
enough,  takes  sides  against  the  police.  This  mania 
for  freedom  in  the  abstract  is  probably  the  natural 
man's  small  revolt  against  society. 

He  was  going  against  the  cavalry  with  a  vague 
idea  of  striking  them  all  to  the  ground  or  something 
of  the  sort,  when  fortunately  some  one  seized  him 
by  the  arm  firmly  but  in  a  friendly  way.  He  was 
brought  back  to  the  doctor's  who  had  sent  out  to 
seek  for  him.  After  he  had  given  his  word  of  honour 
not  to  go  out  again  he  sank  on  a  sofa,  and  lay  all 
the  evening  in  fever. 

On  the  day  of  the  unveiling  of  Charles  XII 's 
statue,  he  was  one  of  the  student  singers,  therefore 
among  the  elect,  the  "  upper  ten  thousand,"  and  had 
no  reason  to  be  discontented  with  his  lot.  When 
the  ceremon}^  was  over,  the  people  rushed  forward. 
The  police  forced  them  back,  and  then  they  began 
to  throw  stones.  The  mounted  police  drew  their 
sabres  and  struck,  arresting  some  and  assaulting 
others. 

John  had  entered  the  market  in  front  of  the 
Jakob's  church  when  he  saw  a  policeman  lay  hold 
of  a  man,  under  a  shower  of  stones  which  knocked 
off  the  constables'  helmets.  Without  hesitation 
he  sprang  on  the  policeman,  seized  him  by  the 
collar,  shook  him  and  shouted,  "  Let  the  fellow  go  !  " 


76  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

The  policeman  looked  at  his  assailant  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  irresolutely. 

"  I  am  Satan,  and  I  will  take  you,  if  you  don't 
let  him  go." 

He  actually  did  let  him  go  and  tried  to  seize  John. 
At  the  same  instant  a  stone  knocked  off  his  three- 
cornered  hat.  Joliii  tore  himself  loose ;  the  crowd 
were  now  driven  back  by  bayonets  towards  the 
guard-house  in  the  Gustaf  Adolf  market.  After 
them  folloAved  a  swarm  of  well-dressed  men, obviously 
members  of  the  upper  classes,  shouting  wildly,  and 
as  it  seemed,  resolved  to  free  the  prisoners.  John 
ran  with  them ;  it  was  as  though  they  were  all 
impelled  by  a  storm-wind.  Men  who  had  not  been 
molested  or  oppressed  at  all,  who  had  high  positions 
in  society,  rushed  blindly  forward,  risking  their 
position,  their  domestic  happiness,  their  living, 
everything.  John  felt  a  hand  grasp  his.  He  re- 
turned the  pressure,  and  saw  close  beside  him  a 
middle-aged  man,  well-dressed,  with  distorted  fea- 
tures. They  did  not  know  each  other,  nor  did  the}^ 
speak  together,  but  ran  hand  in  hand,  as  if  seized 
by  one  impulse.  They  came  across  a  third  in  whom 
John  recognised  an  old  school-fellow,  subsequently 
a  civil  service  official,  son  of  the  head  of  a  depart- 
ment. This  yoimg  man  had  never  sided  with  the 
opposition  party  in  school,  but  on  the  contrary, 
was  looked  upon  as  a  re-actionary  with  a  future  in 
front  of  him.  He  was  now  as  white  as  a  corpse, 
his  cheeks  were  bloodless,  the  muscles  of  his  forehead 


THE   DOCTOR  77 

swollen,  and  his  face  resembled  a  skull  in  which 
two  eyes  were  burning.  They  could  not  speak, 
but  took  each  other's  hands  and  ran  on  against  the 
guards  whom  they  were  attacking.  The  human 
waves  advanced  till  they  were  met  by  the  bayonets, 
and  then  as  always,  dispersed  in  foam.  Half-an- 
hour  later  John  was  discussing  a  beefsteak  with 
some  students  in  the  Opera  restaurant.  He  spoke 
of  his  adventure  as  though  it  were  something  which 
had  happened  independently  of  him  and  his  will. 
Nay,  he  even  jested  at  it.  That  may  have  been 
fear  of  public  opinion,  but  also  it  may  have  been 
the  case  that  he  regarded  his  outbreak  objectively 
and  now  quietly  judged  it  as  a  member  of  society. 
The  trap-door  had  opened  for  a  moment,  the  prisoner 
had  put  his  head  out,  and  then  it  had  closed  again. 

His  unknown  fellow-criminal,  as  he  discovered 
later,  was  a  pronounced  conservative,  a  wholesale 
tradesman.  He  always  avoided  meeting  Jolm's 
eye,  when  they  met  after  this.  One  time  they  met 
on  a  narrow  pavement,  and  had  to  look  at  each 
other,  but  did  not  smile. 

While  they  were  sitting  in  the  restaurant,  came  the 
news  of  the  death  of  Blanche.  The  students  took 
it  fairl}^  coolly,  the  artists  and  middle  class  citizens 
more  warmly,  but  the  lower  classes  talked  of  murder. 
They  knew  that  he  had  personally  besought  Charles 
XV  to  have  the  spectators'  stands  taken  down ; 
they  knew  also,  that  though  he  was  very  prosperous 
himself,  he  had  always  thought  of  them  and  they 
were  thankful.     Stupid  people  objected,  as  is  usual 


78  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

in  such  cases,  that  it  required  no  great  skill  on  his 
part  to  speak  on  behalf  of  the  poor,  when  he  was 
rich  and  celebrated.  Did  it  not  ?  It  required  the 
greatest. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  chief  outbreak  of  dis- 
content was  directed,  not  as  elsewhere  against  the 
King,  but  against  the  governor  and  the  police. 
Charles  XV  was  a  persona  grata;  he  could  do 
as  he  liked  without  becoming  unpopular.  He  was 
neither  condescending  nor  democratic  in  his  tastes, 
but  rather  proud.  Stories  were  told  of  some  of 
his  favourites  having  fallen  into  disgrace  for  want 
of  respect  on  some  mirthful  occasion.  He  could 
put  tobacco  into  his  soldiers'  mouths,  but  he  scolded 
officers  who  did  not  at  once  fall  in  with  his  moods. 
He  could  box  people's  ears  at  a  fire,  and  did  not 
laugh  when  he  was  caricatured  in  a  comic  paper, 
as  was  supposed.  He  was  a  ruler  and  believed  he 
was  also  a  warrior  and  a  statesman  ;  he  interfered 
in  the  government  and  could  snub  specialists  with 
a  "  You  don't  understand  that  !  "  But  he  was 
popular  and  remained  so.  Swedes,  who  do  not 
like  to  see  a  man's  will  slackening,  admired  this 
will  and  bowed  before  it.  It  was  also  strange,  that 
they  forgave  his  irregular  life  ;  perhaps  it  was  because 
he  made  no  secret  of  it.  He  had  laid  down  a  stand- 
ard of  morality  for  himself  and  lived  according  to 
it.  Therefore  he  lived  at  harmon}^  with  himself, 
and  harmony  is  always  pleasant  to  contemplate. 

People  might  be  revolters  by  instinct,  but  they 
did  not  believe  in  the  transition  form  to  a  better 


THE   DOCTOR  79 

social  constitution,  i.  e.  a  republic.  They  had  seen 
how  two  French  republics  had  been  followed  by 
new  monarchies.  There  were  secret  anarchists,  but 
no  republicans,  and  they  had  persuaded  themselves 
that  the  monarchy  offered  no  barrier  to  the  progress 
of  liberty. 

These  were  the  ideas  of  the  younger  men.  The 
elder  men  with  Blanche  thought  a  republic  the  only 
means  of  social  salvation  and  therefore  in  our  days 
the  old  liberal  school  has  become  conservative- 
republican. 

When  the  doctor  saw  that  his  wife's  literary 
books  threatened  to  encroach  upon  John's  medical 
studies,  he  resolved  to  give  him  a  glimpse  into  the 
secrets  of  his  profession,  and  to  allow  him  such  a 
foretaste  of  real  work  as  should  entice  him  to  over- 
come the  tedious  preliminary  studies  which  he  him- 
self thought  too  extensive.  John  now  knew  more 
chemistry  and  physics  than  the  doctor,  and  the 
latter  thought  it  was  merely  malicious  to  hinder 
a  rival's  course  by  imposing  too  hard  preliminary 
studies.  Why  should  he  not,  as  in  America,  com- 
mence dissection,  which  was  a  special  branch  of 
study  ?  Now  after  the  theoretical  study  of  anatomy, 
he  could  begin  practice  as  an  assistant.  That  was 
a  new  life  full  of  variety  and  reality.  One  went  for 
instance  into  a  dark  alley  and  came  into  a  porter's 
room,  where  a  woman  lay,  sick  of  fever,  surrounded 
by  poor  children,  the  grandmother  and  other  rela- 
tions,   who    stole    about    on    tip-toe,    awaiting   the 


80  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

doctor's  verdict.  The  malodorous  ragged  bed-cover 
would  be  lifted,  a  sunken  heaving  chest  exposed  to 
view,  and  a  prescription  written.  Then  one  went 
to  the  Tvädgårdsgatan  and  was  conducted  over 
soft  carpets  through  splendid  rooms  into  a  bed- 
chamber which  looked  liked  a  temple ;  one  lifted 
a  blue  silk  coverlet  and  put  in  splints  the  leg  of  an 
angelic-looking  child,  dressed  in  lace.  On  the  waj^ 
out  one  looked  at  a  collection  of  pam tings,  and  talked 
about  artists.  This  was  something  novel  and  inter- 
esting, but  what  connection  had  it  with  Titus  Livius 
and  the  history  of  philosophy  ? 

But  then  came  the  details  of  surgery.  One  was 
roused  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  came  into 
the  doctor's  dark  room,  and  manually  assisted  at 
the  cauterising  of  a  syphilitic  sore.  The  room  reeked 
of  human  flesh,  and  was  repugnant  to  an  empty 
stomach.  Or  he  had  to  hold  a  patient's  head  and 
felt  it  twitch  with  pain  while  the  doctor  with  a  fork 
extracted  glands  from  his  throat. 

"  One  soon  gets  accustomed  to  that,"  said  the 
doctor,  and  that  was  true,  but  John's  thoughts 
were  busy  with  Goethe's  Faust,  Wieland's  Epicurean 
romances,  George  Sand's  social  phantasies,  Chateau- 
briand's soliloquies  with  nature,  and  Lessing's 
common-sense  theories.  His  imagination  was  set 
in  motion  and  his  memory  refused  to  work ;  the 
reality  of  cauterisations  and  flowing  blood  was  ugly ; 
sestheticism  had  laid  hold  of  him,  and  actual  life 
seemed  to  him  tedious  and  repulsive.  His  inter- 
course with  artists  had  opened  his  eyes  to  a  new 


THE  DOCTOR  81 

world,  a  free  society  within  Society.  They  would 
come  to  a  well-spread  table  where  cultivated  people 
were  sitting  with  badly-fitting  clothes,  black  nails, 
and  dirty  linen,  as  if  they  were  not  merely  equal, 
but  superior  to  the  rest, — in  what  ? 

They  could  scarcely  write  their  names,  they 
borrowed  money  without  repaying  it,  and  their  talk 
was  coarse.  Everything  was  permitted  to  them, 
which  was  not  permitted  to  others.  Why  ?  They 
could  paint.  They  studied  at  the  Academy,  and 
the  Academy  did  not  ask  whether  all  who  enrolled 
themselves  as  students  were  geniuses.  How  was 
it  known  that  they  were  geniuses  ?  Was  painting 
greater  than  Imowledge  and  science  ? 

They  also  had,  as  was  well  recognised,  a  peculiar 
morality  of  their  own.  They  opened  studios,  hired 
models,  and  boasted  of  their  paramours,  while  other 
men  were  ashamed  of  theirs  and  incurred  disapproval 
on  account  of  them.  They  laughed  at  what  were 
very  serious  matters  for  other  men,  nay,  it  seemed  to 
be  part  of  an  artist's  equipment  to  be  a  "  scoundrel," 
as  any  one  else  would  be  called  for  similar  conduct. 

"  That  was  a  glad  free  world,"  thought  John,  and 
one  in  which  he  could  thrive,  without  conventional 
fetters  or  social  obligations,  and  above  all,  without 
contact  with  banal  realities.  But  he  was  not  a 
genius  ?  How  should  he  get  the  entree  to  it  Should 
he  learn  to  paint  and  so  be  initiated  ?  No  !  that 
would  not  do ;  he  had  never  thought  of  painting ; 
that  demanded  a  special  vocation,  he  thought,  and 
painting  would  not  express  all  he  had  to  say,  when 

G 


82  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

once  he  began  to  speak.  If  he  had  to  find  a  medium 
for  self-expression  it  would  be  the  theatre.  An  actor 
could  step  forward,  and  say  all  kinds  of  truths, 
however  bitter  they  might  be,  without  being  brought 
to  book  for  them.  That  was  certainly  a  tempting 
career. 


CHAPTER   IV 

IN   FRONT    OF   THE    CURTAIN 
(1869) 

John's  proposal  to  transfer  the  university  from 
Upsala  to  Stockholm  was  destined  to  have  con- 
sequences, and  his  comrades  had  warned  him  of 
them.  When  he  went  up  early  in  spring  in  order 
to  write  the  obHgator}^  Latin  essay  he  had  sent 
the  professor  by  post  the  three  test-essays  and  the 
15  krona  fee.  So  he  could  carry  out  his  purpose 
unhindered  and  enrolled  himself. 

But  now  in  May  he  wished  to  go  and  pass  the 
preliminary  examination  in  chemistry'.  In  order 
to  be  well  prepared,  he  had  himself  tested  by  the 
assistant-professor  at  the  technological  institute. 
The  latter  did  so  and  declared  that  he  already  knew 
more  than  was  needed  for  the  medical  examination. 
Thus  prepared,  he  went  up  to  Upsala.  His  first 
visit  was  to  a  comrade,  who  had  already  passed 
the  preliminary  examination  in  chemistry,  and 
knew  the  "  tips  "  for  it. 

John  began  :  "  I  can  do  synthesis  and  analysis, 
and  have  studied  organic  chemistry." 

"  That  is  very  well,  for  we  only  need  synthesis ; 

83 


84  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

however,  it  is  no  use  for  you  have  not  studied  in 
the  professor's  laborator^'." 

"  That  is  true ;  but  the  course  at  the  Institute  is 
niuch  better." 

"  No  matter, — it  is  not  liis." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Jolin,  "  whether  laiowledge 
does  not  tell  in  any  case." 

*'  If  you  are  so  sure,  then  try,  but  consider  first 
what  I  say.  You  must  first  go  to  the  assistant- 
professor  and  get  a  '  tip  '." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  For  a  krona  he  will  give  you  an  hour's  polishing, 
and  ask  you  all  the  important  questions  which 
the  professor  has  put  during  the  past  year.  Just 
now  he  is  in  the  habit  of  asking  whether  matches 
can  be  made  out  of  his  carcase  and  ammonia  from 
your  old  boots.  But  that  j^ou  will  learn  from  the 
assistant.  Secondly,  j^ou  must  not  go  to  be  examined 
in  a  frock  coat  and  white  tie ;  least  of  all,  dressed 
as  well  as  you  are  now.  Therefore  j^ou  must  borrow 
my  riding-coat,  which  is  green  in  the  shoulders 
and  red  in  the  seams,  and  my  top-boots,  for  he  does 
not  like  elastic  boots.  Jolm  followed  his  friend's 
instructions  and  went  first  to  the  assistant-professor 
who  gave  him  the  questions  which  had  been  last 
asked.  In  return  John  promised  that  under  all 
circumstances  he  would  return  and  tell  him  the 
questions  which  he  himself  had  been  asked,  as  a 
means  of  enlarging  his  catechism. 

The  next  day  John  went  to  his  friend  to  array 
himself.  His  trousers  were  drawn  up  so  that  the 
tops  of  the  boots  should  be  seen  and  his  loose  collar 


IN   FRONT   OF   THE   CURTAIN  85 

turned  on  one  side,  so  that  the  skin  should  show- 
between  the  tie  and  the  collar.  Thus  equipped, 
he  went  up  for  his  first  trial. 

The  professor  of  chemistry  had  formerly  been  a 
fortification  officer,  and  had  received  in  his  time  a 
not  very  cordial  welcome  from  the  learned  staff 
in  Upsala.  He  was  a  soldier,  not  academically 
cultivated,  and  thus  a  kind  of  "  Philistine."  This 
had  galled  him  and  made  him  bilious.  In  order  to 
efface  the  effect  of  his  laymen-like  exterior,  he 
affected  the  airs  of  an  over-read  and  blunt  professor. 
He  went  about  ill-dressed  and  behaved  eccentrically. 
Though  many  hundreds  besides  himself  had  been 
pupils  of  Berzelius,  he  was  fond  of  mentioning  the 
fact ;  it  was  his  trump  card.  Berzelius,  among  other 
things,  went  about  in  shabby  trousers,  therefore  a 
hole  in  one's  clothes  was  the  sign  of  a  learned 
chemist,  and  so  on.     Hence  all  these  peculiarities. 

John  presented  himself,  was  regarded  with  sus- 
picion and  bidden  to  come  again  in  a  week.  He 
replied  that  he  had  come  from  Stockholm  and  was 
too  poor  to  support  himself  for  a  week  in  the  town. 
He  managed  to  get  permission  to  present  liimself 
the  next  day.  "  It  would  be  soon  over,"  said  the 
old  man. 

The  next  day  he  sat  on  a  seat  opposite  the  pro- 
fessor. It  was  a  sunny  afternoon  in  May,  and  the 
old  man  seemed  to  have  digested  his  dinner  badly. 
He  looked  grim  as  he  threw  out  his  first  question 
from  his  rocking-chair.  The  answers  were  correct 
at  the  beginning.  Then  the  questions  became  more 
tortuous  like  snakes. 


86  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

"  If  I  have  an  estate,  where  I  suspect  the  presence 
of  saltpetre,  how  shall  I  begin  to  construct  a  salt- 
petre factory  ?  " 

John  suggested  a  saltpetre  analj^sis. 

"No." 

"  Well,  then,  I  don't  know  anything  else." 

There  was  silence  and  the  flies  buzzed, — a  long 
and  terrible  silence.  "  Now  will  come  the  question 
about  the  boots  or  the  matches,"  thought  John, 
"  and  there  I  shall  shine."  He  coughed  by  way  of 
rousing  the  professor,  but  the  silence  continued. 
John  wondered  whether  he  had  been  seen  through 
and  whether  the  old  man  recognised  the  "  exam- 
ination coat." 

Then  came  a  new  question  which  was  unanswered, 
and  then  another. 

"  You  have  come  too  soon,"  said  the  old  man, 
and  rose  up. 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  worked  a  whole  year  in  the 
laborator}^  and  can  do  chemical  analysis." 

"  Yes,  you  laiow  how  to  make  up  prescriptions, 
but  you  have  not  digested  3'our  knowledge.  In 
the  Institute  only  manual  dexterity  is  necessary, 
but  here  scientific  knowledge  is  required." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  case  was  exactly  the  reverse 
for  the  medical  students  in  Upsala  complained  that 
they  had  to  stand  like  cooks  and  make  up  mixtures 
and  salts,  without  having  time  to  look  at  an  analysis, 
which  last  was  just  what  a  doctor  ought  to  do 
while  synthesis  was  the  apothecary's  work.  But 
now  the  proposal  made  some  years  before  whether 
the    university   had   not    better    bo   transferred   to 


IN   FRONT   OF   THE   CURTAIN  87 

Stockholm  had  roused  a  feeling  in  Upsala  against 
the  capital.  Moreover  the  laboratory  of  the  newly- 
built  technological  institute  was  as  famous  for  its 
excellent  equipment,  as  that  of  Upsala  was  notorious 
for  its  poor  one.  Here,  therefore,  petty  prejudices 
were  at  work  and  John  felt  the  unfairness  of  it. 
"  I  do  not  then  get  a  certificate  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  sir,  not  this  year;  but  come  again  next 
year." 

The  professor  was  ashamed  to  say,  "Go  to  my 
only  soul-saving  laboratory." 

John  went  out  furious.  Here  then  again  neither 
diligence  nor  knowledge  prevailed,  but  only  cash 
and  cringing  !  Had  he  tried  short  cuts  ?  No,  on 
the  contrary,  he  had  been  obliged  to  travel  by 
painful  circuitous  paths,  while  others  had  gone  the 
direct  road,  and  the  directest  is  the  shortest. 

He  went  to  the  Carolina  Park,  as  angry  as  an  irri- 
tated bee.  He  did  not  wish  to  return  at  once  to 
the  town,  but  sat  down  on  a  seat.  If  he  could  only 
set  this  devil's  hole  on  fire  !  Another  year  ?  No, 
never  !  Why  read  so  much  unnecessary  stuff, 
which  would  only  be  forgotten,  and  be  of  no  practical 
use  ?  And  slave  in  order  to  enter  this  dirty  profes- 
sion where  one  had  to  analj^se  urine,  pick  about 
in  vomit,  poke  about  in  all  the  recesses  of  the  body  ? 
Faugh  !  Just  as  he  was  sitting  there,  a  group  of 
cheerful-looking  people  came  b}',  and  stood  laughing 
outside  the  Carolina  library.  They  looked  up  to 
the  windows,  through  which  long  rows  of  books 
were  visible,  shelf  after  shelf.  They  laughed, — the 
men  and  women  laughed  at  the  books.     He  thought 


88  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

he  recognised  them.  Yes,  they  were  Levasseur's 
French  actors,  whom  he  had  seen  in  Stockhohn 
and  who  were  now  visiting  Upsala.  They  laughed 
at  the  books  !  Luckj^  people  who  could  be  im- 
porters of  genius  and  culture  without  books.  Per- 
haps everj^  soul  had  something  to  give  which  was 
not  in  books,  but  would  be  there  some  day.  Yes, 
certainl}^  it  was  so.  He  himself  possessed  stories 
of  experience  and  thoughts,  which  could  enrich 
anthropology,  and  were  ready  to  be  thro^vn  out. 

Again  there  stole  upon  him  the  thought  of  enter- 
ing this  privileged  profession,  which  stood  outside 
and  above  petty  social  conventions  which  ignored 
distinctions  of  rank,  and  in  which  one  need  never 
be  conscious  of  belonging  to  the  lower  classes.  There 
one  could  appeal  to  the  miiversal  judgment,  and  work 
in  full  publicity  instead  of  being  hung  up  here  in  a 
remote  dark  hole,  without  a  verdict,  examination, 
or  witnesses. 

Strengthened  by  this  new  idea,  he  stood  up, 
cast  a  glance  at  the  books  above,  and  went  down  to 
the  town  resolved  to  go  home  and  seek  for  an 
engagement  in  the  Theatre  Royal. 

Every  townsman  has  probably  felt  once  in  his 
life  the  wish  to  appear  as  an  actor.  This  is  probably 
due  to  the  impulse  of  the  cultivated  man  to  magnify 
and  make  himself  something,  to  identify  himself 
with  great  and  celebrated  personalities.  John,  who 
was  a  romanticist,  had  also  the  desire  to  step  for- 
ward and  harangue  the  public.  He  believed  that 
he  could  choose  his  proper  role,  and  he  knew  before- 
hand which  it  would  be.     The  fact  that  he,  like  all 


IN   FRONT   OF  THE   CURTAIN  89 

others,  believed  that  he  had  the  capacity  to  become 
an  actor,  sprang  from  the  siiperfluitj'  of  unused  force, 
produced  b}^  a  want  of  sufficient  physical  exercise, 
and  from  the  tendency  to  megalomania  connected 
with  mental  over-exertion.  He  saw  no  difficulties 
in  the  profession  itself,  but  expected  opposition 
from  another  quarter. 

To  attribute  his  being  stage-struck  to  hereditary 
tendencies  would  perhaps  be  hasty,  since  we  have 
just  remarked  that  it  is  an  almost  universal  impulse. 
But  his  paternal  grandfather,  a  Stockholm  citizen, 
had  written  dramatic  pieces  for  an  amateur  theatre, 
and  a  young  distant  relative  still  lived  as  a  warning 
example.  The  latter  had  been  an  engineer,  had 
been  through  a  course  of  instruction  in  the  Motala 
iron-works,  and  had  a  post  on  the  Köping-Hult 
railway.  He  therefore  had  fine  prospects  in  front 
of  him,  but  suddenly  threw  them  up,  and  became 
an  actor.  This  step  of  his  was  an  incessant  trouble 
to  his  family.  Up  to  this  time  the  young  man  had 
become  nothing  but  was  still  travelling  about  with 
an  obscure  theatrical  company.  The  danger  of 
becoming  like  him  was  the  difficult  point.  "  Yes," 
said  John  to  himself,  "  but  I  shall  have  luck." 
Why  ?  Because  he  believed  it ;  and  he  believed  it 
because  he  wished  it. 

Some  might  be  inclined  to  derive  this  strong  im- 
pulse on  John's  part  from  the  fact  that  he  loved 
to  play,  as  a  child,  with  a  toy  theatre,  but  that  is 
not  sufficient,  as  all  children  do  the  same  and  he 
had  got  the  taste  from  seeing  them  do  it.  The 
theatre  was  an  unreal  better  world  which  enticed 


90  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

one  out  of  the  tedious  real  one.  The  latter  would 
not  have  seemed  so  tedious  if  his  education  had 
been  more  harmonious  and  realistic  and  not  given 
him  such  a  strong  tendency  to  romance.  Enough; 
his  resolution  was  taken ;  and  without  saying  any- 
thing to  any  one,  he  went  to  the  director  of  the 
Theatrical  Academy  the  dramaturgist  of  the  Theatre 
Royal. 

When  he  heard  the  sound  of  his  own  words  "  I 
want  to  be  an  actor,"  he  shuddered.  He  felt  as 
though  he  tore  down  the  veil  of  his  inborn  modesty, 
and  did  violence  to  his  own  nature. 

The  director  asked  what  he  was  doing  at  present. 

"  Studying  medicine." 

"  And  you  want  to  give  up  such  a  career,  for  one 
that  is  the  hardest  and  the  worst  of  all?  " 

"  Yes." 

All  actors  called  their  profession  the  "  hardest 
and  the  worst  "  though  they  had  such  a  good 
time  of  it.  That  was  in  order  to  frighten  away 
aspirants. 

John  asked  for  private  lessons  in  order  that  he 
might  make  his  debut.  The  director  replied  that 
he  was  now  going  to  the  country  for  the  theatrical 
season  was  at  an  end,  but  he  told  John  to  come  again 
on  the  1st  of  September  when  the  theatre  opened, 
and  the  board  of  management  came  again  to  the 
town.  That  was  a  defuiite  appointment  and  he 
saw  his  way  clear. 

When  he  went  do^ai  the  street,  he  walked  with 
his  eyes  wide  open,  as  though  he  gazed  into  a  brilliant 
future  ;  victory  was  already  his  ;  he  felt  its  intoxi- 


IN  FRONT   OF   THE   CURTAIN  91 

eating  fumes,  and  hurried,  though  with  unsteady 
steps,  down  the  street. 

He  said  nothing  to  the  doctor  nor  to  any  one  else. 
He  had  still  three  months  in  front  of  him  in  which 
to  train  and  prepare  himself,  but  in  secret,  for  he 
was  shy  and  timid.  He  was  afraid  of  annoying 
his  father  and  the  doctor,  afraid  of  the  whole  town 
knowing  that  he  thought  himself  capable  of  being 
an  actor,  afraid  of  his  relatives'  scorn,  his  friends' 
grimaces  and  efforts  to  dissuade  him.  This  was  the 
fruit  of  liis  education,  the  fear, — "  What  will  people 
say  ?  "  His  imagination  made  the  act  seem  like 
a  crime.  It  was  certainlj^  an  interference  with  other 
people's  peace  of  mind  for  relations  and  friends  feel 
a  shock,  when  they  see  a  link  torn  out  of  the  social 
chain.  He  felt  it  himself,  and  had  to  shake  off 
the  scruples  of  conscience. 

For  his  debut  he  had  chosen  the  roles  of  Karl 
Moor  and  Wijkander's  Lucidor.  This  was  no  mere 
chance  but  perfectly  logical.  In  both  of  these 
characters  he  had  found  the  expression  of  his 
inner  experience,  and  therefore  he  wished  to  speak 
with  their  tongues.  He  conceived  of  Lucidor  as 
a  higher  nature  undermined  and  ruined  by  poverty. 
A  higher  nature  of  course  !  In  his  enthusiasm  for 
the  theatre  he  felt  again  what  he  had  felt  when  he 
had  preached,  and  when  he  had  revolted  against 
the  school  prayers, ^  something  of  the  proclaimer, 
the  prophet,  and  the  soothsayer. 

WTiat  most  of  all  elevated  his  ideas  of  the  great 
significance  of  the  theatre  was  the  perusal  of 
1   Vide  the  Son  of  a  Servant. 


92  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

Schiller's  essay,  "  The  theatre  regarded  as  an 
instrument  of  moral  education."  Sentences  like 
the  following  show  how  lofty  was  the  goal  at  which 
Schiller  aimed.  "  The  stage  is  the  chief  channel 
through  which  the  light  of  wisdom  descends  from 
the  better,  thinking  portion  of  the  populace  in  order 
to  spread  its  beneficent  light  over  the  whole  state." 
"  In  this  world  of  art  we  dream  ourselves  away 
from  the  real  one,  we  find  ourselves  again,  our 
feelings  are  roused,  wholesome  emotions  stir  our 
slumbering  nature  and  drive  our  blood  in  swift 
currents.  The  unhappy  here  forget  their  own 
sorrows  in  watching  those  of  others,  the  happy 
become  sober,  and  the  self-confident,  reflective. 
The  effeminate  weakling  is  hardened  into  a  man, 
the  coarse  and  callous  here  begin  to  feel.  And 
then  finally, — what  a  triumph  for  thee  0  Nature, 
so  often  trodden  down  and  so  often  re-arisen, — 
when  men  of  all  climates  and  conditions,  casting 
away  all  fetters  of  convention  and  fashion,  set  free 
from  the  iron  hand  of  fate,  fraternising  in  one  all- 
embracing  sympathy,  dissolved  into  one  race, 
forget  themselves  and  the  world,  and  approach 
their  heavenly  origin.  Each  individual  enjoys  the 
delight  of  all,  which  is  mirrored  back  to  him  strength- 
ened and  beautified  from  a  hundred  ej^es,  and  his 
breast  has  only  room  for  one  aspiration, — to  be  a 
man  !  " 

Thus  wrote  the  young  Schiller  at  twenty-five, 
and  the  youth  of  twenty  subscribed  it. 

The  theatre  is  certainly  still  a  means  of  culture 
for  J^oung  people   and   the   middle   class  who   can 


IN  FRONT   OF  THE   CURTAIN  93 

still  feel  the  illusion  of  actors  and  painted  canvas. 
For  older  and  cultivated  people  it  is  a  recreation 
in  wliich  the  actor's  art  is  the  chief  object  of  atten- 
tion. Therefore  old  critics  are  almost  invariably 
discontent  and  crabbed.  They  have  lost  their 
illusions  and  do  not  pass  over  any  mistake  in  the 
acting. 

Modern  times  have  overprised  the  theatre,  especi- 
ally the  actor's  art  in  an  exaggerated  degree,  and 
a  re-action  has  followed.  Actors  have  tried  to  ply 
their  art  independently  of  the  dramatist,  believing 
that  they  could  stand  on  their  own  legs.  Therefore 
particular  "  stars  "  become  the  objects  of  homage 
and  therefore  also  opposition  has  been  aroused. 
In  Paris,  where  people  had  gone  to  the  greatest 
lengths,  a  reaction  first  showed  itself.  The  Figaro 
called  the  heroes  of  the  Théätre-Fran9ais  to  order, 
and  reminded  them  that  they  were  only  the  author's 
puppets. 

The  decay  of  all  the  great  European  theatres 
shows  that  the  actor's  art  has  lost  its  interest. 
Cultivated  people  no  more  go  to  the  theatre  because 
their  sense  for  reality  has  been  developed,  and  their 
imagination  which  is  a  relic  of  the  savage  has 
diminished  ;  the  uncultivated  lack  the  time,  and  the 
money  to  go.  The  future  seems  to  belong  to  the 
variety  theatre,  which  amuses  without  instructing, 
for  it  is  mere  play  and  recreation.  All  important 
writers  choose  another,  more  suitable  form  in  which 
to  handle  important  questions.  Ibsen's  dramas 
have  always  produced  their  effect  in  book  form 
before  they  were  pla^^ed ;  and  when  they  are  pla^x^d, 


94  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

the  spectators'  interest  is  generally  concentrated 
on  the  manner  of  their  performance ;  consequently 
it  is  a  secondary  interest. 

John  committed  the  usual  mistake  of  youth,  i.  e. 
of  confusing  the  actor  with  the  author ;  the  actor 
is  the  mere  enunciator  of  the  sentiments  for  which 
the  author  who  stands  behind  him,  is  responsible. 

In  the  spring  John  resigned  his  post  as  tutor  to 
the  two  girls,  and  now  he  had  leisure  during  the 
summer  to  study  his  art  in  secret,  and  on  his  own 
responsibility.  He  had  scoffed  at  books,  and  now 
the  first  things  he  sought  were  books.  They  con- 
tained the  thoughts  and  experiences  of  men  with 
whom,  though  most  of  them  were  dead,  he  could 
converse  familiarly,  without  being  betra^^ed.  He 
had  heard  that  in  the  castle  there  was  a  library 
which  belonged  to  the  State,  and  from  which  one 
could  borrow  books.  He  obtained  a  surety  and 
went  there.  It  was  a  solemn  place  with  small  rooms 
full  of  books  where  grey-haired  silent  old  men  sat 
and  read.  He  got  his  books  and  went  shyly  and 
happilj''  home. 

He  wished  to  study  the  matter  thoroughly  in  all 
its  aspects,  as  was  his  custom.  In  Schiller  he  found 
the  assurance  that  the  theatre  was  of  deep  signifi- 
cance ;  in  Goethe  he  found  a  whole  treatise  on  the 
histrionic  art  with  directions  how  one  should  walk 
and  stand,  behave  oneself,  sit  down,  come  in  and 
go  out ;  in  Lessing's  Hamburgische  Dramaturgic  he 
found  a  whole  volume  of  theatrical  critiques  filled 
with  the  closest  observations.  Lessing  especially 
roused  his  hopes,  for  he  went  so  far  as  to  declare 


IN  FRONT   OF  THE   CURTAIN  95 

that  the  theatre  had  come  down  owing  to  the 
inferioritj''  of  the  actors,  and  said  that  it  would  be 
better  to  employ  amateurs  from  the  cultivated 
classes  who  would  play  better  than  the  drilled  and 
often  uncultured  actors.  He  also  read  Raymond 
de  St.  Albin,  whose  often  quoted  observations  on 
the  actor "s  art  are  of  great  value. 

At  the  same  time  he  exercised  himself  practically. 
At  the  doctor's  he  arranged  a  stage  when  the  boys 
were  out.  He  practised  entrances  and  exits;  he 
arranged  the  stage  for  "  The  Robbers,"  dressed  him- 
self like  Karl  Moor,  and  played  that  part.  He  went 
to  the  National  Museum  and  studied  gestures  of 
antique  sculptures  and  gave  up  using  his  walking 
stick  in  order  to  accustom  himself  to  walk  freely. 
He  did  violence  to  his  shjTiess,  which  had  almost 
produced  in  him  "agoraphobia,"  or  the  dread  of 
crossing  open  places,  and  accustomed  himself  to 
walk  across  Karl  XIII's  square  where  great  crowds 
used  to  be  found.  He  did  gymnastics  every  day 
at  home,  and  fenced  with  his  pupils.  He  gave  atten- 
tion to  every  movement  of  the  muscles ;  practised 
walking  with  head  erect  and  chest  expanded,  with 
arms  hanging  free  and  hands  loosely  clenched,  as 
Goethe  directs. 

The  chief  difficulty  he  found  was  in  the  cultivation 
of  his  voice,  for  he  was  overheard  when  he  declaimed 
in  the  house.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  to  go  outside 
the  town.  The  only  place  where  he  could  be 
undisturbed  was  the  Ladugårdsgärdet.  There  he 
could  look  over  the  plain  for  a  great  distance  and 
see   whether   any   one   was   coming ;   there   sounds 


96  THE  GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

died  away  so  quickly  that  it  cost  him  an  effort  to 
hear  himself.     This  strengthened  his  voice. 

Every  day  he  went  out  there,  and  declaimed 
against  heaven  and  earth.  The  town  whose  church 
tower  rose  opposite  Ladugårdsgärdet  symbolised 
society,  while  he  stood  out  here  alone  with  Nature. 
He  shook  his  fist  at  the  castle,  the  churches,  and 
the  barracks,  and  stormed  at  the  troops  who  during 
their  manoeuvres  often  came  too  close  to  him. 
There  was  something  fanatical  in  his  work  and  he 
spared  himself  no  pains  in  order  to  make  his  unwil- 
ling muscles  obedient. 


CHAPTER  V 

JOHN   BECOMES   AN   ARISTOCRAT 
(1869) 

Among  those  who  frequented  the  doctor's  house 
was  a  young  man  who  studied  sculpture.  He  had 
come  from  the  lower  strata  of  society,  had  been 
a  smith's  apprentice,  and  had  now  entered  the 
Academy,  where  he  was  a  probationar}^  student. 
He  was4jappy  and  always  cheerful,  believed  himself 
called  by  providence  to  his  new  career,  and  narrated 
how  he  had  been  aroused  and  impelled  by  the  spirit 
to  work  in  the  service  of  the  Beautiful.  John  liked 
him  because  he  was  not  introspective  or  self-critical 
and  quite  free  from  self -consciousness.  Moreover 
he  was  a  fellow  culprit,  who  was  making  the  same 
daring  attempt  as  John  to  work  his  way  out  of  the 
lower  class,  but  entirely  lacked  the  consciousness  of 
guilt  which  persecuted  the  latter. 

One  day  this  friend,  whose  name  was  Albert, 
came  to  him  and  said  that  he  was  going  to  Copen- 
hagen to  visit  Thorwaldsen's  Museum,  An  enter- 
prising speculator  had  arranged  a  trip  there  through 
the  canal  and  back  by  sea  for  a  very  small  fare. 
"  You  come  too,"  he  said,  and  it  was  soon  settled 
that  Jolm  should  accompany  him  with  one  of  the 
boys.    The   occasion   of   the   expedition    was   the 

H  97 


98  THE  GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

cro^^^l  princess's  entry  into  Copenhagen,  but  that 
was  a  secondary  object  in  the  eyes  of  the  pilgrims 
to  Thorwaldsen's  tomb. 

On  an  August  evening  Jolm  sat  on  the  poop  of 
the  steamer  with  the  sculptor,  one  of  the  boys  and 
a  school  friend  of  his.  In  the  twilight  which  had 
alread}^  fallen  one  saw  ladies  and  gentlemen  coming 
on  board.  The  society  seemed  to  be  first-class. 
Stout  fathers  of  families  with  field-glasses  and 
tourist  loiapsacks,  ladies  in  summer  dresses  and 
hats  of  the  latest  fashion.  There  was  a  bustle 
and  stir,  as  each  sought  a  sleeping-place  which  was 
guaranteed  to  all.  John  and  his  companions  sat 
quietly  waiting.  They  had  their  provisions  and  rugs 
and  feared  nothing.  When  the  steamer  had  started 
and  the  confusion  had  ceased,  Jolm  said,  "  Now  we 
will  have  some  bread  and  butter  before  we  lie  down." 

They  looked  for  their  knapsacks  and  the  provision 
basket,  but  they  were  not  to  be  found.  They 
discovered  that  they  had  not  come  with  them. 
This  was  a  hard  blow,  for  they  had  onl}'  a  little 
cash  and  they  had  counted  on  the  excellent  pro- 
visions which  the  doctor's  wife  had  })ut  up  for  them. 
Accordingly  they  had  to  eat  from  the  sculptor's 
box,  which  only  contained  poor  dry  victuals. 

Then  they  wanted  to  lie  do"\Mi.  On  all  sides 
people  were  asking  for  sleeping-places,  but  could 
not  find  any.  The  passengers  were  in  an  uproar 
and  there  was  a  storm  of  curses.  They  had  therefore 
to  sit  on  deck ;  there  were  inquiries  for  the  organiser 
of  the  expedition,  but  he  was  not  on  board.  John 
lay  doAMi  on  the  bare  deck  and  the  boys  drew  a 


JOHN   BECOMES   AN  ARISTOCRAT      99 

tarpaulin  over  themselves,  for  the  dew  was  falling 
and  it  was  bitterly  cold.  They  awoke  at  Södertelje, 
freezing,  for  the  sailors  had  taken  aA^'ay  the  tar- 
paulin. 

On  the  canal  bank  there  now  appeared  the  organ- 
iser of  the  excursion,  who  was  an  upholsterer.  The 
passengers  rushed  at  him,  drew  him  on  board,  and 
loaded  him  with  reproaches.  He  defended  himself 
and  tried  to  land  again,  but  in  vain.  A  court  martial 
was  held ;  they  resolved  to  continue  their  journe}^ 
but  detained  the  upholsterer  as  a  hostage.  The 
steamer  M'ent  on  through  the  canal,  but  as  it  was 
passing  through  a  lock,  the  man  swung  himself 
up  on  the  dam  and  disappeared  amid  a  hail  of 
curses. 

The  journey  was  continued  and  by  midday  they 
were  in  the  Gotha  canal.  Dinner  was  laid  on  the 
poop.  John  and  his  companions  ensconced  them- 
selves in  the  lifeboat  which  hung  there  and  ate  a 
simple  meal  out  of  the  sculptor's  box.  The  sculptor, 
A\'ho  had  slept  on  a  bale  down  in  the  luggage-hold, 
was  in  a  good  humour  and  Imew  all  the  passengers' 
characters  and  names. 

The  dinner-table  was  now  crowded.  It  M'as 
presided  over  b}^  a  master  chimney-sweep  with  his 
family.  Then  there  came  paAvnbrokers,  public- 
house  keepers,  cabmen,  butchers,  waiters,  with 
their  families,  a  number  of  young  shop  boj^s  and 
some  girls.  John  suffered  when  he  saw  stewed 
perch  and  strawberries  together  with  claret  and 
sherry,  for  he  had  been  so  spoilt  bj^  luxury  that 
simple  food  made  him  poorly.     This  was  the  ''  upper 


100  THE  GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

class  "  among  the  passengers.  The  master  chimney- 
sweep played  the  grand  gentleman,  he  made  a 
grimace  at  the  claret  and  scolded  the  waitress  who 
said  that  the  restaurant-keeper  was  responsible. 
The  porter  from  the  Record  Office  affected  the 
learned  man,  and  as  an  official  seemed  to  look  down 
on  the  "  Philistines." 

While  the  sherry  circulated,  speeches  were  made. 
The  loAver  class  from  the  fore-deck  hung  on  the 
gunwales  and  hand-rails  and  listened.  The  pariahs 
in  the  lifeboat  Avere  ignored.  People  knew  that 
they  were  there,  but  did  not  see  them.  They  may 
very  likely  have  wished  the  "  white  cap  "  awaj^, 
for  there  were  tAvo  eyes  under  its  peak,  which  saw 
that  they  were  no  better  than  himself.  John  felt 
that.  He  had  just  emerged  from  this  class  to  which 
he  belonged  by  birth,  but  he  had  no  food  and  was 
nothing.  He  felt  his  inferiority  and  his  superiority ; 
and  their  superiority.  They  had  worked ;  there- 
fore they  ate.  Yes,  but  he  had  Avorked  as  much  as 
they,  though  not  in  the  same  Avay.  He  had  deriA'cd 
honour  from  his  Avork,  AA'hile  the}'  took  the  good 
eating  and  dispensed  AA'ith  the  honour.  One  could 
not  luiA^c  both. 

The  people  sat  there  satisfied  and  happ}-,  drank 
their  coffee  and  liqueurs,  and  occupied  the  Avhole 
poop.  They  noAV  became  bold  and  made  remarks 
over  those  in  the  lifeboat,  Avho  could  only  suffer  in 
silence,  because  the  others  A\ere  in  the  majority 
and  the  upper  class,  for  the}'  AAere  consumers. 

John  felt  himself  in  an  element  Avhich  AAas  not 
his.     There  Avas  an  atmosphere  of  hostility  about 


JOHN  BECOMES  AN  ARISTOCRAT     101 

him,  and  he  felt  depressed.  There  were  no  police 
on  board  to  help  him,  no  arbitration  to  appeal  to, 
and  if  there  were  a  quarrel,  all  would  condemn 
him.  There  onl}^  needed  a  sharp  retort  on  his  part, 
and  he  would  be  struck.  "  The  deuce  !  ''he  thought, 
"  it  would  be  better  to  obey  officers  and  officials  ;  the}" 
would  never  be  such  tjTants  as  these  democrats." 

Later  on,  at  Albert's  advice,  he  sought  to  approach 
them,  but  they  were  inaccessible. 

Further  on  during  the  voyage  between  Venersborg 
and  Göteborg  the  explosion  came.  Jolm  and  his 
companions'  hunger  increased  so  much  that  one 
day  they  determined  to  go  down  to  the  dining-saloon 
and  eat  some  bread  and  butter.  It  was  so  full  of 
people  eating  and  drinking  that  they  could  hardlj^ 
find  room.  John's  pupil,  according  to  the  custom 
of  his  class,  kept  his  hat  on.  The  master  chimney- 
sweep noticed  this.  "  Hullo  !  "  he  said,  "  is  the 
ceiling  too  high  for  j^ou  ?  " 

The  boy  seemed  not  to  understand  him. 

"  Take  your  hat  off,  boy  !  "  he  shouted  again. 

The  hat  remained  as  it  was.  A  shop  assistant 
knocked  it  off.  The  boy  picked  up  the  hat,  and 
put  it  again  on  his  head.  Then  the  storm  burst. 
They  all  rushed  on  him  like  one  man  and  knocked 
the  hat  off.  Then  they  went  for  Jolm,  "  And 
such  a  3"oung  devil  has  a  tutor  who  cannot  teach 
boys  to  Imow  their  proper  place  !  We  know  well 
enough  who  you  are."  Then  they  rained  abuse  on 
liis  parents.  John  tried  to  inform  them  that  in 
the  social  circles  to  which  the  boy  belonged,  it  was 
the  custom  to  keep  one's  hat  on  in  public  places, 


102  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

and  that  he  had  not  intended  anj^  expression  of 
contempt  by  it.  But  his  explanation  was  ill -received. 
What  did  he  mean  by  "  those  circles  "  ?  What 
nonsense  he  talked  !  Did  he  want  to  teach  them 
manners?     And  so  on. 

Yes,  he  could ;  for  it  was  precisely  from  these 
circles  that  they  had  learnt  five-and-twenty  years 
ago  to  take  their  hats  off,  which  was  no  longer  the 
custom,  and  he  could  have  told  them  that  in  twentj^- 
five  years  more  they  would  keep  their  hats  on  as 
soon  as  they  got  wind  that  that  was  the  fashion. 
But  they  had  not  discovered  it  j^et. 

John  and  his  friends  went  again  on  deck.  "  One 
cannot  argue  Avith  these  people,"  he  said. 

His  nerves  were  shaken  by  the  scene  just  wit- 
nessed. He  had  seen  an  outbreak  of  class-hatred 
and  the  flashing  eyes  of  people  whom  he  had  not 
injured ;  he  had  felt  the  foot  of  the  upper  class  of 
the  future  upon  his  breast.  Thej'  had  become  his 
enemies ;  the  bridge  between  him  and  them  was 
broken  åo\Y\\  ;  but  the  tie  of  blood  remained  and  he 
cherished  the  same  hatred  towards  aristocratic 
society,  and  its  unjust  ascendenc}^  as  thej'  did;  he 
felt  the  same  grudge  against  the  conventions  before 
which  they  all  had  to  bow ;  yes,  he  had  Karl  Moor's 
replies  in  his  mind,  but  those  who  had  just  defeated 
him  were  all  Spicgelbergers.^  If  they  got  the 
upper  hand  they  would  trample  on  all, — great  and 
small ;  if  he  got  the  upper  hand,  he  would  only 
trample  on  the  great.  That  was  the  difference 
between  them.  It  was,  however,  education  which 
1  Vide  Schiller's  "  Robbers,'-'- 


JOHN  BECOMES  AN  ARISTOCRAT     103 

had  made  him  more  democratic  tlian  thej' ;  he 
would  therefore  side  with  the  educated.  They  would 
work  for  those  below,  but  from  a  distance,  and  from 
above.  One  could  not  handle  this  raw  uncouth 
mass. 

The  stay  on  board  was  now  intolerable.  An  out- 
break might  take  place  at  any  moment.  And  it 
came. 

They  were  now  in  the  Kattegat,  and  John  was 
sitting  on  the  upper  deck  when  he  heard  a  loud 
noise  beneath  him  of  voices  and  cries.  He  thought 
he  recognised  his  pupil's  voice,  and  rushed  doAvn. 
On  the  middle  deck  stood  the  accused  surrounded 
b}^  a  crowd.  A  pawnbroker  waved  his  arms  about 
and  shouted.     John  asked  what  the  matter  was. 

"  He  has  stolen  ni}^  cap,"  shouted  the  paAvn- 
broker. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  possible,"  said  John. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  it ;  he  has  put  it  in  this  clothes  bag." 

It  was  Jolm's  bag.  "  That  is  mine,"  said  John. 
"  You  can  look  into  it  yourself."  He  opened  the 
bag  and  there  lay  the  pawnbroker's  cap  !  There 
was  general  excitement.  John  stood  convicted  and 
a  storm  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  out  against 
the  two  thieves.  A  student  who  stole  !  That  was 
a  bonne  bouche.  How  had  it  happened  ?  Now 
John  remembered.  He  had  a  grey  cap  similar  to 
the  pawnbroker's  which  he  used  to  sleep  in  at 
night.  He  had  told  the  boy  to  put  it  in  his  bag ; 
the  boy  had  taken  the  wrong  one.  John  turned  to 
the  foredeck  passengers  :  "  Gentlemen,"  he  began, 
"  do  you  think  it  likely  that  a  rich  man's  son  would 


104  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

go  and  take  a  greasy  cap  when  he  has  a  perfectly 
new  one  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  there  has  been  a 
mistake  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  plebeians,  "  there  has." 

Only  the  pawnbroker  was  obstinate  and  stuck 
to  his  statement. 

"  Then  it  only  remains  for  me  to  beg  this  gentle- 
man's pardon  for  the  mistake,  and  I  ask  my  pupil 
to  do  the  same." 

The  latter  did  so,  though  unM'illingl3\  There  was 
general  satisfaction  and  a  murmured  opinion  that 
he  had  "spoken  like  a  gentleman."  The  matter 
was  fortunately  settled. 

"  You  see,"  said  John  to  the  boy,  "  the  people 
are  open  to  reason  after  all  !  " 

"  Bah  !  That  was  only  because  they  felt  flattered 
at  being  called  gentlemen, — the  cursed  rabble  !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  John,  who  felt  that  he  had 
been  sufficientl}'-  humiliated  for  such  a  trifle. 

At  last  the}'  reached  Copenhagen.  Hungrj^ 
freezing,  and  in  the  worst  of  humours  they  sat  in 
the  rain  outside  the  Thorwaldsen  Museum,  which 
was  closed  on  account  of  the  festivities.  But 
Albert  swore  he  would  get  in.  After  they  had 
waited  for  an  hour  with  the  master  chimney-sweep, 
the  public-house  keeper,  and  all  the  other  passengers 
there  came  an  old  man  who  looked  learned  and 
wished  to  enter.  Albert  rushed  after  him,  men- 
tioned the  name  of  Molins,  the  Swedish  sculptor, 
and  the}'  got  in,  leaving  the  other  passengers  out- 
side. Albert  was  delighted,  and  could  not  help 
making  a  face  at  the  master  chimney-sweep  who 


JOHN  BECOMES  AN  ARISTOCRAT    105 

remained  outside.  But  the  one  who  enjoyed  it 
most  was  the  5^oung  sinner,  who  hated  the  mob. 

"  Now  we  are  gentlemen,"  he  said. 

John  was  not  in  the  mood  to  enjoy  Thorwaldsen's 
works.  He  regarded  him  as  an  average  artist 
talented  enough  to  win  fame.  Albert  found  the 
antiques  too  elaborate,  but  did  not  dare  to  criticise 
them.  They  did  not  witness  the  roj-al  entry,  but 
sat  on  the  tow^r  of  the  Fruekirke  and  looked  at 
the  view.  At  nightfall,  when  they  felt  tired  and 
exhausted,  they  wanted  to  go  down  to  the  steamer 
to  sleep,  but  it  had  gone  to  Malmo.  Thej^'  stood  in 
the  street  in  the  rain.  They  could  not  go  to  an  hotel, 
for  thej"  had  no  money.  Albert  resolved  to  go  to 
a  public-house  and  ask  for  a  night's  lodging.  The}^ 
found  a  sailors'  inn  near  the  public -house.  The 
landlord  said  it  was  only  for  seamen,  but  they 
answered  that  they  must  have  shelter.  They  were 
taken  into  a  back  room  where  there  were  two  camp- 
beds,  but  a  basin  was  not  to  be  seen.  The  walls 
were  unpapered  and  looked  shabby.  In  one  of 
the  beds  lay  a  sailor.  Who  was  to  be  his  bed- 
fellow ?  Albert  undertook  that,  and  slept  with 
the  stranger,  who  was  a  Dutchman.  So  they  all 
went  to  sleep,  John  cursing  the  whole  adventure, 
for  the  bed-clothes  were  malodorous. 

The  return  vo3'age  home  by  sea  was  one  long 
penance .  Without  pro visi  ons  and  hardly  any  money 
they  had  to  sustain  life  on  raw  eggs  which  they 
bought  in  the  small  towns  they  touched  at.  These 
along  with  stale  bread  and  brandy,  composed  their 
diet  for  three  days.     Albert  alone  was  cheerful  and 


106  THE   GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

enjoj^ed  himself.  He  slept  on  the  poop  with  the 
passengers  and  amused  them  with  stories ;  he  was 
akin  to  them,  and  laiew  their  language.  He  drank 
with  them  and  got  hot  food ;  he  even  went  into  the 
kitchen  sometimes  and  begged  himself  a  plate  of 
soup.  "  How  easily  he  takes  life  !  "  thought  John. 
"  He  does  not  miss  luxuries,  for  he  has  never  known 
them ;  he  will  never  be  expelled  as  an  intruder 
when  he  approaches  people ;  he  feasts  while  otliers 
starve,  and  sees  only  friends  everj'where.  But  his 
day  will  come  when  he  will  no  longer  be  one  of  the 
lower  class,  when  luxury  and  refuied  habits  will 
make  him  as  helpless  and  unfortunate  as  me." 

When  he  got  home  he  was  furious.  So  it  was 
everywhere.  Those  who  were  above  trampled  on 
those  below,  and  those  who  were  below  tried  to 
pull  one  back  when  one  tried  to  mount.  What  was 
the  meaning  of  all  this  talk  about  aristocrats  and 
democrats  ?  The  lower  class  spoke  of  their  demo- 
cratic way  of  thinking,  as  though  it  were  a  virtue. 
What  virtue  is  there  in  hating  those  who  are  above  ? 
Wliat  is  the  meaning  of  "aristocrat"?  "Aqiotoq 
means  the  best,  and  xgazéoj  "  I  rule."  Therefore  an 
aristocrat  is  one  who  wishes  that  the  best  should 
rule  and  a  democrat  one  who  wishes  that  the  worst 
sliould  do  so.  But  then  comes  the  question  :  Who 
are  really  the  best  ?  Are  a  low  social  position, 
poverty  and  ignorance  things  that  make  men 
better  ?  No,  for  then  one  would  not  try  to  do 
away  with  poverty  and  ignorance.  Into  whose 
hands  then  should  men  commit  pohtical  power, 
witli  the  knowledge  that  it  would  be  in  the  hands 


JOHN  BECOMES  AN  ARISTOCRAT    107 

of  the  least  mischievous  ?  Into  the  hands  of  those 
who  knew  most  ?  Then  one  would  have  professorial 
government,  and  Upsala  would  be — no,  not  the 
professors  !  To  whom  then  should  power  be  given  ? 
He  could  not  answer,  but  certainly  not  to  the 
chimnej^-sweep  and  cab-o^Mier  who  were  on  the 
steamer. 

On  this  occasion  he  did  not  go  deeper  into  the 
matter,  for  the  question  had  not  yet  been  raised 
whether  the  same  culture  could  not  be  imparted 
to  everj^  one,  or  whether  there  need  be  any  governing 
body  at  all. 

He  had  come  across  the  worst  aristocracj^  of  all, 
the  upper  stratum  of  the  lower  class,  or,  to  name 
them  bj'^  their  usual  ugl}^  title,  "  the  Philistines." 
They  were  a  bad  cop}^  of  the  aristocracy ;  the}^  sided 
with  the  powerful,  aped  the  habits  of  their  superiors, 
grew  rich  by  others'  labours,  quoted  authorities 
and  hated  opposition  with  the  exception  of  their 
silent  opposition  to  those  above  them.  The  master 
chimney-sweep  made  money  through  the  toil  of 
the  abjectly  poor,  the  cab-o"\vner  through  the 
wretched  cabbies  and  hacks,  the  pa-uiibroker  wrung 
unrighteous  gain  from  the  need  of  the  poverty- 
stricken,  and  so  on,  everywhere.  A  teacher,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  doctor,  an  artist,  could  not  depute 
slaves  to  his  work ;  he  must  do  it  himself,  and  was 
therefore  not  such  a  shark  as  those  below.  If,  then, 
culture  brought  men  happiness  and  made  them 
better,  then  the  aristocracy  were  justified  and 
beneficent,  and  could  regard  themselves  as  better 
than  those  below.     Yes,  but  one  could  buy  culture 


108  THE   GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

for  monej',  could  beg  or  borroAV  the  means  for  it, 
as  so  manj^  students  did,  and  there  was  no  virtue 
in  that  at  any  rate.  Yet  one  could  not  help  feeling 
superior  to  others  when  one  Imew  more  and  observed 
the  laws  of  social  life  so  as  to  injure  no  one.  All 
that  remained  for  the  real  democracj'  was  to  reduce 
everything  to  a  dead  level,  so  that  no  one  need  feel 
themselves  below,  and  no  one  could  think  they  were 
above. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN 
(1869) 

The  Swedish  theatre  was  at  this  time  exposed 
to  many  attacks,  and  when  is  a  theatre  not  in  that 
condition  ?  The  theatre  is  a  miniature  society 
Avithin  society,  with  a  monarch,  ministers,  officials, 
and  a  whole  number  of  classes,  ranged  above  one 
another  in  ranks.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  this  society 
is  always  exposed  to  the  attacks  of  the  malcontents  ? 
But  at  this  period  the  attacks  had  a  more  practical 
object.  A  former  provincial  actor  had  written  a 
pamphlet  against  the  Theatre  Roj'al,  of  little  real 
importance,  but  with  the  result  that  the  author 
was  invited  to  a  seat  on  the  board  of  directors.  This 
aroused  imitators,  and  many  published  treatises  in 
order  to  attain  the  same  result. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Theatre  Ro3'al  was 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  it  had  been  before. 
"  But,"  it  was  asked,  "  if  the  theatre  is  an  institution 
supported  by  subscriptions  for  forwarding  culture, 
why  set  an  imcultivated  person  at  the  head  of 
it  ?  "  To  this  it  was  ansAvered,  "  We  have  just  had 
one  of  the  most  learned  men  in  the  country  as 
director,  and  how  did  that  answer  ?     Although  he 

109 


110  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

had  the  advantage  of  plebeian  birth  he  was  worried 
to  death  by  the  democratic  press,  which  incessantly 
carped  at  him."  At  last,  in  our  time,  the  utopia 
of  self-government  has  been  realised,  the  theatre 
has  a  man  from  the  lower  classes  at  its  head,  and 
there  is  general  satisfaction. 

On  the  day  fixed,  Jolm  went  to  the  theatre  in  order 
to  announce  his  intention  of  making  his  debut.  After 
some  delay,  he  was  sent  for  and  asked  his  business. 

"  I  want  to  make  my  debut." 

"  Oh  !  have  you  studied  any  special  character  ?  " 

"  Karl  Moor  in  '  The  Robbers,'  "  he  answered 
more  defiantly  than  was  necessary. 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled.  "  But 
one  must  have  three  roles ;  have  you  got  no  other 
to  suggest  ?  " 

"  Lucidor  !  " 

There  was  a  consultation,  and  John  was  informed 
that  these  dramas  were  not  noAv  in  the  repertory 
of  the  theatre.  He  objected  that  this  was  not  a 
sufficient  reason  for  his  not  undertaking  those  roles, 
but  received  the  perfectly  fair  answer,  that  the 
theatre  could  not  stage  such  important  dramas 
and  disarrange  its  programme  for  untried  debutants. 
Then  the  director  proposed  to  John  that  he  should 
take  the  role  of  the  "  Warrior  of  Ravenna."  But 
after  the  great  success  which  had  attended  the  last 
actor  of  that  part,  he  dared  not.  They  finally 
suggested  that  he  should  have  a  talk  with  the 
literary  manager.  Then  began  a  battle  which  Avas 
probably  not  the  first  or  the  last  which  had  taken 
place  in  that  room. 


BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN  111 

"Be  reasonable,  sir  ;  one  must  study  this  profession 
like  all  others.  No  one  becomes  an  adept  all  of  a 
sudden.  Creep  before  3'ou  walk.  Undertake  at 
first  a  minor  role." 

"  No,  the  role  must  be  great  enough  to  sustain  me. 
In  a  minor  role  one  must  be  a  great  artist  in  order 
to  attract  attention." 

"  Yes,  but  listen  to  me,  sir ;  I  have  experience." 

"  Yes,  but  others  have  made  their  debut  in  leading 
parts,  without  having  been  on  the  stage  before." 

"  But  you  will  break  your  neck." 

"  Very  well,  then  !     I  will  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  the  board  of  directors  will  not  give 
the  best  stage  in  the  country  to  the  first  chance 
aspirant  to  make  experiments  on." 

That  seemed  reasonable.  He  therefore  consented 
to  undertake  a  minor  role.  He  was  given  the  part 
of  Härved  Boson  in  Hedberg's  Marriage  of  Ulfosa. 

John  read  over  the  part  at  home,  and  was  aston- 
ished. It  was  quite  insignificant.  He  only  had  a 
few  quarrels  with  his  brother-in-law  and  then 
embraced  his  wife.  But  he  had  to  undertake  the 
part,  as  he  had  agreed  to  do. 

The  rehearsals  began.  To  have  to  shout  out 
empty  words  without  meaning  >\'as  repugnant  to 
him. 

After  some  trials  the  teacher  declared  that  he 
had  no  more  time  and  recommended  John  to  take 
lessons  in  the  Dramatic  Academy. 

"  But  I  won't  be  a  pupil,"  he  said. 

"  No,  of  course." 

They  talked  of  the  Dramatic  Academy,  as  of  an 


112  THE   GROWTH  OF  A   SOUL 

elementary  or  Simdaj^  School ;  all  kinds  of  pupils 
were  accepted  whether  they  had  any  education  or 
not.  John  did  not  intend  to  become  a  pupil,  but 
went  just  to  listen.  He  went  there  reluctantly. 
Accustomed  to  be  a  teacher  himself,  he  was  received 
as  a  sort  of  honorary  guest,  and  sat  down,  but 
attracted  an  uncomfortable  amount  of  attention. 
The  hour  was  passed  in  reciting  "  Vintergatan," 
which  he  knew  by  heart,  and  some  other  pieces  of 
verse. 

/     "  But  one  can't  learn  anything  for  the  stage  here," 
he  ventured  to  say  to  the  teacher. 

"  Well !  come  on  the  stage,  and  try  before  the 
footlights." 

"  How  can  I  do  that  ?  " 

"  As  a  supernumerary  actor." 

"  Supernumerary  !  H"m  !  That  is  like  going 
downhill  before  beginning,"  thought  John.  But 
he  determined  to  go  through  with  it.  One  morning 
he  received  an  invitation  to  trj^  a  part  in  Bjornson's 
Maria  Stuart.  The  theatre  messenger  gave  him  a 
little  blue  note-book  on  which  was  written,  "  A 
nobleman,"  and  inside,  on  a  white  sheet  of  paper, 
"  The  Lords  have  sent  an  intermediär}'  with  a 
challenge  to  Count  Bothwell."  That  was  the  whole 
part  !     Such  was  to  be  his  debut  ! 

f  At  the  appointed  time  he  went  up  the  little  back 
stairs,  passed  the  door-keeper  and  came  on  the 
stage.  It  Avas  the  first  time  that  he  was  behind 
the  scenes,  and  saw  the  reverse  of  the  medal.  The 
stage  looked  like  a  great  warehouse  with  black 
walls ;  a    cracked  and  dirty  floor  like  that  of  a  hay 


BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN  113 

loft,  and  grey  linen  screens  mounted  on  rough 
wood. 

It  was  here  that  he  had  seen  represented  majestic 
scenes  from  the  world's  history;  here  Masaniello 
had  shouted  "  Death  to  Tj^ants  "  while  John  stood 
trembhng  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  row  among  the 
audience ;  here  Hamlet  had  given  vent  to  his  scorn 
and  suffered  his  sorrows,  and  from  here  Karl  Moor 
had  defied  society  and  the  whole  world.  Jolm  felt 
alarmed.  How  could  one  preserve  the  illusion  here 
in  sight  of  the  unpainted  wood  and  the  grey  canvas  ? 
Everything  looked  dusty  and  dirty ;  the  workmen 
were  poor  melancholy  devils,  and  the  actors  and 
actresses  looked  insignificant  in  their  ordinary 
clothes.") 

He  Avas  led  into  the  lobby  where  they  were  going 
to  dance  for  half-an-hour  the  gavotte,  which  intro- 
duced the  play.  It  was  broad  daylight.  The  old 
music  teacher  sat  on  a  chair  and  plaj^ed  the  viol. 
The  ballet-master  shouted,  struck  his  hands  together 
and  arranged  them  in  their  places.  "  I  didn't 
bargain  for  this,"  thought  John,  but  it  was  too  late. 
So  he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  complicated 
dance  which  he  did  not  Imow,  and  was  pushed  about 
and  scolded.  "No,  I  am  not  going  to  do  this,"  he 
thought,  but  he  could  not  get  out  of  it. 

A  feeling  of  shame  came  over  him.  Dancing  in 
the  daj'-time  was  not  a  seeml}^  occupation.  And 
then  to  descend  from  teacher  to  pupil,  and  be  the 
last  here  ;  he  had  never  before  gone  back  so  far. 

The  bell  rang  for  the  rehearsal,  and  they  were 
driven  on  the  stage.     Then  they  were  arranged  for 


114  THE   GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

the  gavotte.  By  the  footlights  stood  the  chief 
actors  who  had  the  important  roles ;  and  behind 
them  the  rest  in  two  lines  occupied  the  background. 

The  orchestra  struck  up  and  the  dance  began  in 
slow  solemn  rhythm.  From  the  footlights  were 
heard  the  deep  voices  of  the  two  Puritans  lamenting 
the  depravity  of  the  court. 

Lindsay.  "Look!  the  dancing  lines  wind  like 
snakes  in  the  sun.  Listen  !  the  music  plays  with  the 
flames  of  hell !     The  devil's  roar  of  laughter  is  in  it." 

Andrew  Kerr.  "  Hush,  hush ;  the  penalt}^  will  over- 
whelm them  as  the  sea  overwhelmed  Pharaoh 's  army . ' ' 

Lindsay.  "  Look,  how  they  whisper  !  The  infect- 
ing breath  of  sin  !  See  their  voluptuous  smiles ;  see 
the  ladies'  frivolous  gowns." 

Citizen.  "  All  that  Knox  preaches  is  wasted  on 
this  court." 

Lindsay.  "  He  is  as  the  prophet  in  Israel,  he  does 
not  speak  in  vain  ;  for  the  Lord  Himself  shall  perform 
His  word  upon  the  ungodly  race." 

The  piece  had  an  arresting  effect,  and  John  felt  it. 
The  men  actors  had  their  hats,  overcoats  and  sticks, 
and  the  women  their  cloaks  and  muffs,  but  still  the 
drama  was  impressive  in  its  simple  greatness.  He 
stood  in  the  wings  and  listened  to  the  whole  of  it ; 
Mary  Stuart  did  not  please  him ;  she  was  cruel  and 
coquettish ;  Bothwell  was  too  rough  and  strong ; 
his  favourite  was  Darnley,  the  weak,  Hamlet-like 
man  whose  love  to  this  woman  continued  to  burn 
in  spite  of  unfaithfulness,  scorn,  malice  and  every- 
thing. Knox  was  as  hard  as  stone  with  his  Puritan- 
ism and  gloomy  Christianit3^ 


BEHIND  THE   CURTAIN  115 

It  was  after  all  something  to  step  forward  and 
enact  a  piece  of  historj^  in  the  garb  of  such  persons. 
There  was  something  solemn  about  it  as  he  had 
felt  before  in  the  church.  After  he  had  gone  on 
the  stage  and  made  his  speech  he  went  away  jQrmly 
resolved  to  bear  all  on  behalf  of  sacred  art. 

He  had  thus  taken  the  decisive  step.  To  his 
father  he  had  written  a  high-flown  letter,  and  declared 
that  he  would  either  become  something  great  in 
the  career  wliich  he  had  now  entered  or  would  retire 
from  it  altogether ;  he  had  resolved  not  to  go  home 
till  he  had  succeeded.  The  doctor  was  sorry  but 
made  no  fuss,  for  he  saw  it  was  impossible  to  stop 
him.  But  he  had  other  secret  plans  for  saving  him 
which  he  now  began  to  set  in  motion.  In  the  first 
place  he  induced  John  to  translate  one  or  two  medical 
pamphlets  for  which  he  had  found  a  publisher. 
Now  he  came  with  a  proposal  that  they  should 
together  write  articles  for  the  Aftonbladet  {Evening 
News).  John  for  his  part  had  translated  Schiller's 
essay,  The  Theatre  Regarded  as  a  Moral  Institu- 
tion, and  as  the  subject  of  the  theatre  had  now 
come  up  in  the  Reichstag  the  doctor  wrote  an 
introduction  to  it  in  which  he  seriously  expostulated 
with  the  Agrarian  party  on  their  indifference  to 
culture.  The  whole  article  was  inserted.  Another 
day  the  doctor  came  -wdtli  a  member  of  the  medical 
journal,  the  Lancet,  which  treated  of  the  question 
whether  women  Avere  fit  for  a  medical  career.  With- 
out hesitation  and  instinctivel}^  John  decided 
against  it.  He  had  an  indescribable  reverence  for 
women  as  woman,  mother  and  wife,  but  as  a  matter 


116  THE  GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

of  fact,  society  was  founded  upon  the  man  regarded 
as  provider  for  the  family,  and  upon  the  woman  as 
wife  and  mother ;  thus  man  had  a  full  right  to  his 
work-market  and  all  tlie  duties  involved  in  it. 
Every  occupation  taken  from  t  lie  man  would  mean 
a  marriage  less  or  one  more  overworked  family- 
provider,  for  the  impulse  to  marry  was  so  strong 
in  men  that  they  would  not  cease  to  marrj^,  however 
great  the  difficulties  in  which  the}^  might  become 
involved.  Moreover  women  had  abundant  oppor- 
tunities of  work ;  they  could  become  servants,  house- 
keepers, governesses,  teachers,  midwives,  seam- 
stresses, actresses,  artists,  authoresses,  queens, 
empresses,  besides  wives  and  mothers.  Many  of 
these  vocations  ^^ere  also  open  to  the  unmarried. 
Anything  more  than  this  was  an  encroachment  on 
the  man's  territor3^  If  the  woman  did  that,  the 
man  should  be  free  from  the  cares  of  providing 
for  the  famil}',  and  inquiries  after  paternit}'  should 
not  be  made.  But  society  would  not  consent  to 
that.  On  the  contrar}^  it  began  to  persecute  the 
prostitutes  b}^  way  of  forcing  men  to  marry.  Once 
caught  in  the  snares  of  the  married  women's  property 
law,  they  would  sink  to  the  level  of  domestic  slaves. 
John  instinctively  took  sides  in  this  complicated 
problem,  which  was  destined  to  take  many  years 
to  solve,  and  wrote  against  the  women's  movement, 
which  he  saw  would  involve,  if  victorious,  man's 
overthrow.  The  movement  for  the  emancipation 
of  women  had  during  the  fifties,  assumed  the  wildest 
forms,  and  the  war-cry,  "  No  lords  !  No  lords  !  " 
had  shown  the  true  nature  of  the  movement,  which 


BEHIND  THE   CURTAIN  117 

had  also  been  ridiculed  bj''  Rudolf  Wall  in  his  comedy, 
Miss  Garibaldi.  But  while  j^ears  went  on,  the 
women  had  worked  in  silence. 

Great  therefore  was  the  surprise  of  the  doctor  and 
Jolm  when  thej^  found  their  article  in  the  Aftonbladet 
so  altered  that  it  seemed  in  favour  of  the  movement. 
*'  The  editor  is  under  the  thumbs  of  women,"  said 
the  doctor,  and  thereby  the  matter  was  explained. 

Meanwhile  John's  theatrical  career  approached 
a  crisis.  He  had  been  sent  into  a  green  room 
where  brandy  was  drunk  and  everything  was  dirty, 
to  put  on  his  clothes  with  the  supernumeraries. 
"  The}'  want  to  humihate  me,"  he  thought,  "  but 
patience  !  " 

Now  he  was  simply  appointed  as  supernumerary 
in  one  opera  after  the  other.  He  declared  that  he 
feared  neither  the  footlights  nor  the  public  after 
having  preached  in  church,  but  it  was  no  good. 
The  worst  was,  having  to  lounge  about  at  the 
rehearsals  for  hours  together  with  nothing  to  do. 
If  he  read  a  book,  he  was  told  he  had  no  interest  in 
the  pla3%  and  if  he  went  away,  an  outcry  was  raised. 

In  the  Theatrical  Academy  roles  were  merely 
learnt  by  heart.  Children  who  had  onl}^  gone 
through  an  elementar}^  school,  began  to  read  Goethe's 
Faust,  naturally  without  understanding  an3^thing 
of  it.  But  curiously  enough,  their  very  boldness 
saved  them  ;  they  got  on  so  well  that  one  was  inclined 
to  think  there  was  no  need  for  an  actor  to  understand 
anj'thing,  if  only  he  could  say  his  piece  fluently. 
After  a  few  months  John  was  sick  of  it  all.  It  was 
all   mechanical.    The   greatest   actors    were    blase 


118  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

and  indifferent,  never  spoke  of  art,  but  only  of 
engagements  and  honorariums.  There  was  no  trace 
of  the  gay  life  behind  the  scenes,  of  \vhich  so  much 
had  been  written.  The}^  sat  silent  waiting  for  their 
turns  to  come ;  the  dancers  and  actresses  in  their 
costumes,  sewing  and  stitching.  In  the  lobby  the 
actors  went  about  on  tip-toe,  looked  at  the  clock 
and  put  on  their  false  beards,  without  speaking  a 
word. 

One  evening,  when  Maria  Stuart  was  being 
acted,  Jolm  sat  alone  in  the  lobby  reading  a  paper. 
The  actor  Dahlqvist,  who  was  taking  the  part  of 
John  Kjiox,  came  in.  John,  who  cherished  a  deep 
admiration  for  the  great  actor,  stood  up  and  bowed. 
If  he  could  only  speak  with  such  a  man.  He 
trembled  at  the  very  thought.  Knox,  with  his 
venerable  long  white  hair,  his  black  dress,  and  his 
great  eyes  half-sunk  in  his  powerful  deeply-lined 
face,  sat  down  at  the  table.  He  yawned.  "  What 
is  the  time  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  sepulchral  tone.  John 
answered  that  it  was  half-past  ten,  unbuttoning  his 
Burgundian  velvet  jacket  to  look  for  the  watch  which 
was  not  there. 

"  The  time  is  going  devilish  slow  this  evening," 
said  Knox  and  yawned  again.  Then  he  began  to 
retail  bits  of  gossip.  He  was  only  a  ruin  of  his  former 
greatness  when  his  acting  of  Karl  Moor  had  cast 
all  his  rivals  into  the  shade.  He  too  had  seen 
througli  everything  and  was  weary  of  it  all.  And 
yet  he  had  once  thought  so  highly  of  his  art. 

Since  John  had  now  the  right  of  free  entrance 
into  the  theatre  he  tried  to  study  acting  from  the 


BEHIND   THE   CURTAIN  119 

auditorium.  But  behold  !  the  illusion  was  gone  ! 
There  was  Mr.  So-and-so  and  Mrs.  So-and-so,  there 
was  the  background  for  Quentin  Dunvard,  there 
sat  Högfelt,  and  there  behind  the  scenes,  stood 
Boberg.  There  was  no  further  possibility  of  illusion. 
He  was  sick  of  the  wretched  role  which  he  had  to 
repeat  continually.  But  he  also  felt  remorse  and 
feared  that  he  could  not  retire  from  the  game 
honourabl3\  At  last  he  plucked  up  courage  and 
demanded  a  leading  part.  The  piece  in  which  it 
occurred  had  already  been  performed  fifty  times, 
and  the  chief  actors  were  tired  of  it,  but  they  had 
to  come.  The  rehearsal  took  place  without  costumes 
or  scenery.  John  was  accustomed  to  the  declama- 
torj^  manner  usual  then,  and  shouted  like  a  preacher. 
It  was  a  failure.  After  the  rehearsal  the  head  of 
the  theatrical  academy  pronounced  his  verdict  and 
advised  John  to  enter  it  for  a  course  of  training,  but 
he  would  not.  He  wept  for  rage,  went  home  and 
took  an  opium  pill  which  he  had  long  kept  by  him, 
but  without  effect ;  then  a  friend  took  him  out  and 
he  got  intoxicated. 


CHAPTER  VII 

JOHN   BECOMES   AN   AUTHOR 
(1869) 

The  next  morning  he  felt  in  a  state  of  complete 
collapse.  His  nerves  still  trembled  and  his  bod}- 
felt  the  fever  of  shame  and  intoxication.  What 
should  he  do  ?  He  must  save  his  honour.  He  must 
still  hold  out  for  tAvo  or  three  months  and  try  again. 
That  da}'  he  remained  at  home  and  read  The  Stories 
of  a  Barber-Surgeon.  As  he  read  it  seemed  to  him 
that  they  recorded  his  own  experience ;  they  were 
about  the  reconcihation  of  a  step-son  to  his  step- 
mother. The  breach  in  his  domestic  life  had 
always  weighed  upon  him  like  a  sin,  and  he  longed 
for  reconciliation  and  peace.  That  day  this  longing 
took  an  unusually  melancholy  form,  and  as  he  lay 
on  the  sofa,  his  brain  began  to  evolve  various  plans 
for  smoothing  away  the  domestic  discord.  A 
w^oman-worshipper  as  he  then  was,  and  under  the 
influence  of  the  book  he  had  been  reading,  he  thought 
that  only  a  woman  could  reconcile  him  with  his 
father.  This  noble  role  he  assigned  to  his  step- 
mother. 

While  thus  l^'ing  on  the  sofa  he  felt  an  unusual 
degree  of  fever,  during  which  his  brain  seemed  to 

120 


JOHN  BECOMES  AN  AUTHOR        121 

work  at  arranging  memories  of  the  past,  cutting 
out  some  scenes,  and  adding  others.  New  minor 
characters  entered ;  he  saw  them  mixing  in  the 
action,  and  heard  them  speaking,  just  as  he  had 
done  on  the  stage.  After  one  or  two  hours  had 
passed,  he  had  a  comed}^  in  two  acts  ready  in  his 
head.  This  was  both  a  painful  and  pleasurable 
form  of  work  if  it  could  be  called  a  work ;  for  it 
went  forward  of  itself,  without  his  will  or  co-opera- 
tion . 

But  now  he  had  to  write  it.  In  four  daj's  the 
piece  Avas  ready.  He  kept  on  going  from  the  writing- 
table  to  the  sofa  and  back;  and  in  the  intervals  of 
his  work,  he  collapsed  like  a  rag.  When  the  work 
was  finished,  he  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  as  though 
3'ears  of  pain  were  over,  as  though  a  tumour  had  been 
cut  out.  He  was  so  glad,  that  he  felt  as  though 
some  one  was  singing  within  him.  Now  he  w^ould 
offer  his  piece  to  the  theatre ; — that  was  the  way  of 
salvation.  The  same  evening  he  sat  down  to  write 
a  note  of  congratulation  to  a  relative  who  had  found 
a  situation.  Wlien  he  had  written  the  first  line,  it 
seemed  to  him  to  read  like  a  verse.  Then  he  added 
the  second  line  which  rhymed  with  the  first.  Was 
it  no  harder  than  that  ?  Then  with  a  single  effort 
he  wrote  a  four-page  letter  in  rhyme  and  discovered 
that  he  could  write  verse.  Was  it  no  harder  than 
that  ?  Only  a  few  months  before  he  had  asked  a 
friend  to  help  him  with  some  verses  for  a  special 
occasion.  He  had,  however,  received  a  negative 
but  compliment ar}"  answer,  in  being  told  not  to  drive 
in  a  hired  carriage,  when  he  had  one  of  his  oa\ii. 


122  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

One  was  not  then  born  to  write  verses,  he  said  to 
himself,  nor  did  one  learn  it,  though  all  kinds  of 
verse-measures  were  taught  in  school,  but  it  came, — 
or  did  not  come.  It  seemed  to  him  like  the  working 
of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Had  the  psychical  convulsion, 
which  he  had  felt  at  his  defeat  as  an  actor,  been  so 
strong  that  it  had  turned  upside  down  all  the 
strata  of  his  memories  and  impressions,  and  had  the 
violent  impulse  set  his  imagination  to  work?  There 
had  doubtless  been  a  long  preparation  going  on. 
Was  it  not  his  imagination,  which  had  conjured  up 
pictures,  when  as  a  child  he  had  been  afraid  of  the 
dark  ?  Had  he  not  written  essays  in  school  and  letters 
for  years  ?  Had  he  not  formed  his  style  through 
reading,  translating  and  writing  for  the  papers  ? 
Yes,  he  had,  but  it  was  not  till  now  that  he  noticed 
in  himself  the  so-called  creative  power  of  the  artist. 

The  art  of  the  actor  Avas  therefore  not  the  one 
suited  to  his  powers ;  his  having  thought  so  was  a 
mistake  which  could  easily  be  rectified.  Meanwhile 
he  must  keep  his  authorshij)  fairly  secret  and  remain 
at  the  theatre  till  the  end  of  the  season,  so  that  his 
failure  as  an  actor  might  not  be  ImoAvn,  or  at  any 
rate  till  his  piece  was  accepted,  as  it  naturally  would 
be,  for  he  thought  it  good. 

But  he  wished  to  make  sure  of  it,  and  for  that 
purpose  invited  two  of  his  learned  friends  outside 
the  theatrical  circle.  In  the  evening  before  they 
came,  he  arranged  the  lumber-room  which  he  had 
hired  in  the  doctor's  house.  He  tidied  it  up,  lighted 
two  candles  instead  of  the  study  lamp,  covered  the 
table  with  a  clean  cloth  and  set  on  it  a  punch-bowl 


JOHN   BECOMES  AN  AUTHOR         123 

with  glass,  asli-traj'S  and  matches.  This  was  the 
first  time  he  had  entertained  guests,  and  the  experi- 
ence was  novel  and  strange. 

The  work  of  an  author  has  often  been  compared 
to  childbirth,  and  the  comparison  has  something 
to  justify  it.  He  felt  a  kind  of  peace  like  that  which 
follows  parturition ;  something  or  some  one  seemed 
to  be  there  which,  or  who,  was  not  there  before ; 
there  had  been  suffering  and  crying  and  now  there 
was  silence  and  peace.  He  felt  in  a  festival  mood 
as  he  used  to  do  in  the  old  times  at  home ;  the 
children  were  in  their  Sunday  best,  and  their  father 
in  his  black  frock  coat  cast  a  last  look  round  on  the 
arrangements  before  the  guests  came. 

His  friends  arrived  and  he  read  the  piece  through 
in  silence  till  the  end.  They  gave  their  verdict, 
and  John  was  greeted  by  his  elders  as  an  author, 

\\lien  they  had  gone,  he  fell  on  his  laiees  on  the 
floor,  and  thanked  God  for  having  delivered  him 
from  difficulty  and  bestowed  on  him  the  gift  of 
poetry.  His  communion  with  God  had  been  very 
irregular  ;  it  was  a  curious  fact,  that  in  cases  of  great 
necessity  he  rallied  his  powers  within  himself  and 
did  not  cry  to  the  Lord  at  all ;  but  on  joyful  occasions, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  involuntarily  felt  the  need  of 
at  once  thanking  the  Giver  of  all  good.  It  was 
just  the  contrary  to  what  it  had  been  in  his  child- 
hood, and  that  was  natural  since  his  idea  of  God 
had  developed  into  that  of  the  Author  and  Giver  of 
all  good  things,  whereas  the  God  of  his  childhood 
had  been  a  God  of  terror  whose  hand  was  full  of 
misfortunes. 


124  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

At  last  he  had  found  his  calling,  his  true  role  in 
life  and  his  wavering  character  began  to  develop 
a  backbone.  He  had  a  pretty  good  idea  now  of 
what  he  wanted,  and  this  gave  him  at  least  a  rudder 
to  steer  by.  Now  he  pushed  off  from  land  to  go 
for  a  long  voj^age,  but  always  ready  to  tack  Avhen 
he  encountered  too  strong  a  head  wind, — not, 
however,  to  fall  to  leeward,  but  the  next  moment 
to  luff  his  ship  up  to  the  wind  with  bellj'ing  sails. 

By  writing  this  comedy,  he  had  now  relieved 
himself  of  his  domestic  troubles.  He  next  described 
the  religious  conflicts  he  remembered  so  vividly  in 
a  three-act  play.  This  lightened  the  ship  consider- 
ably. 

His  creative  energj?^  during  this  period  was  im- 
mense. He  had  the  writing  fever  daily;  within 
two  months  he  composed  two  comedies  and  a 
rhymed  traged}^,  besides  occasional  verses.  The 
tragedy  was  his  first  real  "  work  of  art,"  as  the 
phrase  is,  for  it  did  not  deal  with  any  of  his  sub- 
jective experiences.  "  Sinking  Hellas  "  was  the 
not  inconsiderable  theme.  The  composition  was 
finished  and  clear,  but  the  situations  were  somewhat 
threadbare,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  declama- 
tion. The  only  original  elements  in  it  were  an 
austere  moral  tone  and  contempt  for  uncultured 
demagogues.  Thus,  for  instance,  he  introduced 
an  old  man  inveighing  against  the  immoralitj^  and 
want  of  patriotism  of  the  youth  of  the  time.  He 
made  Demosthenes  speak  disparagingly  of  a  dema- 
gogue, and  express  something  of  what  he  had  felt 
towards  the  master  chinmey-sweep  and  pawnbroker 


JOHN  BECOMES  AN  AUTHOR        125 

on  the  journey  to  Copenhagen.  The  head  of  the 
Theatrical  iVcademy  also  got  a  rap  over  the  knuckles 
because  he  had  often  lamented  over  John's  "  lack 
of  culture."  The  piece  was  aristocratic  in  tone, 
and  the  freedom  celebrated  in  it  was  that  which 
was  the  object  of  aspiration  in  the  sixties, — national 
freedom. 

Meanwhile  he  had  sent  his  domestic  comedy 
anonymously  to  the  board  of  management  of  the 
Theatre  Roj^al.  While  it  was  under  consideration, 
he  went  on  cheerfully  with  his  work  as  super- 
numerary actor.  "  Just  you  wait  !  "  he  said  to 
himself,  "  then  my  turn  will  come  and  I  shall  have 
a  word  to  say  in  the  matter."  He  was  now  quite 
cool  on  the  stage,  and  felt,  even  when  dressed  as 
a  peasant  3'outh  in  Wilhelm  Tell,  like  a  prince  in 
disguise.  "  I  am  certainly  no  swineherd,  though  you 
may  think  so,"  he  hummed  to  himself. 

He  had  to  wait  long  for  an  answer  about  his  piece. 
At  last  he  lost  patience  and  revealed  himself  as  the 
author  to  the  head  of  the  Theatrical  Academy. 
The  latter  had  read  the  piece  and  found  talent  in 
it,  but  said  it  could  not  be  played.  This  was  not 
a  great  blow  for  him,  for  he  still  had  the  tragedy  in 
reserve.  That  was  better  received,  but  he  was  told 
it  needed  remodelhng  here  and  there. 

One  evening  when  the  Academj^  closed,  the  head 
instructor  expressed  a  wish  to  speak  with  John. 
"  Now  we  see  what  3'ou  are  good  for,"  he  said. 
"  You  have  a  fine  career  in  front  of  jou  ;  wh}^  should 
you  choose  an  inferior  one  ?  You  can  become  an 
actor  probably  if  you  Avork  for  some  3Tars,  but  why 


126  THE   GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

toil  at  this  thankless  task  ?  Go  back  to  Upsala 
and  take  j'our  degree  if  j'ou  can.  Then  become  an 
author,  for  one  must  first  have  experiences  in  order 
to  write  well." 

To  become  an  author, — that  John  agreed  with, 
and  also  with  the  suggestion  that  he  should  give 
up  the  theatre ;  but  as  for  returning  to  Upsala, — 
no  !  He  hated  the  univcrsit}^  and  did  not  see  how 
the  useless  things  one  learnt  there  could  help  him 
as  an  author  ;  he  rather  needed  to  study  life  at  first 
hand.  But  then  he  began  to  reflect,  and  when  he 
considered  that,  at  present,  he  could  get  no  piece 
of  his  accepted  so  as  to  serve  as  a  plank  to  save 
himself  by,  he  grasped  at  the  other  straw, — Upsala. 
There  was  no  disgrace  in  becoming  a  student  again, 
and  at  the  theatre  they  knew  that  he  was  not  only 
an  unsuccessful  debutant,  but  also  an  author. 

At  the  same  time  he  learnt  that  there  was  a 
legac}^  due  to  him  from  his  mother  of  a  few  hundred 
kronas.  With  them  he  could  support  himself  for 
a  half-3'car  at  the  univcrsit}'.  He  went  to  his  father, 
not  as  a  prodigal  son,  but  as  a  promising  author, 
and  as  a  creditor.  There  was  a  vehement  dispute 
between  them  which  ended  in  John  receiving  his 
legacy.  He  had  now  conceived  the  plan  of  a  tragedy 
with  the  startling  title  "  Jesus  of  Nazareth."  It 
dealt  in  dramatic  form  Avith  the  life  of  Christ,  and 
was  intended,  with  one  blow  and  once  for  all,  to 
shatter  the  divine  image  and  eradicate  Christianity. 
But  when  he  had  completed  some  scenes,  he  saw 
that  the  subject-matter  was  too  great  and  would 
demand  prolonged  and  tedious  stud}'. 


JOHN  BECOMES  AN  AUTHOR        127 

The  theatrical  season  now  approached  its  end. 
The  Theatrical  Academ}'  gave  their  ciistomar}^  stage 
performance.  John  had  received  no  role  in  it,  but 
undertook  the  task  of  prompter.  And  his  career 
as  an  actor  closed  in  the  prompter's  box.  To  this 
was  reduced  his  ambition  of  acting  Karl  Moor  on 
the  stage  of  the  Great  Theatre  !  Did  he  deserve 
this  fate  ?  Was  he  worse  equipped  for  acting  than 
the  rest  ?  That  was  probably  not  so,  but  the  ques- 
tion was  never  decided. 

In  the  evening  after  the  performance,  a  dinner 
was  given  to  the  Academy  pupils.  Jolm  was  invited 
and  made  a  speech  in  verse  in  order  to  make  his 
exit  seem  as  little  like  a  fiasco  as  possible.  He 
became  intoxicated,  as  usual,  behaved  foolishly 
and  disappeared  from  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    "runa"    club 

(1870) 

The  Upsala  of  the  sixties  showed  signs  of  the  end 
and  dissolution  of  a  period  which  might  be  called 
the  Boströmic.^  In  what  relation  does  the  philo- 
sophic system  which  prevails  in  a  given  period 
stand  to  the  period  itself  ?  The  S3'stem  seems  like 
a  collection  of  the  thoughts  of  the  period  at  a  par- 
ticular point  of  time .  The  philosopher  does  not  make 
the  period,  but  the  period  makes  the  philosopher. 
He  collects  all  the  thoughts  of  his  period  and  thereby 
exercises  an  influence  on  it,  and  with  the  close  of  the 
period  his  influence  ends.  The  Boströmic  philo- 
sophy had  three  defects ;  it  wished  to  be  definitely 
Swedish ;  it  came  too  late ;  and  it  wished  to  out- 
live its  period.  To  attempt  to  construct  a  purely 
Swedish  philosophy  was  absurd,  for  that  meant 
trying  to  break  loose  from  the  connection  with  the 
great  mother-stem  which  grows  on  the  Continent 
and  only  sends  out  seeds  towards  the  Northern 
peninsula.  The  attempt  came  too  late,  for  time  is 
necessary  to  construct  a  system,  and  before  the 
system   was   constructed,   the   period   had   passed. 

1  Boström  :  Swodiah  Philosopher  (1797-1866). 
128 


THE    'RUNA'   CLUB  129 

Boström,  as  a  philosopher,  was  not,  as  it  were,  shot 
out  of  a  cannon.  All  laiowledge  is  collecting-work, 
and  is  coloured  by  the  personality  of  the  collector. 
Boström  was  a  branch  grown  out  of  Kant  and 
Hegel,  watered  by  Biberg  and  Grubbe,  and  finally 
producing  some  offshoots  of  his  owai.  That  was  all. 
He  seems  to  have  derived  his  fundamental  prin- 
ciple from  Krause's  Pantheism,  which  itself  was  an 
attempt  to  unite  the  philosophy  of  Kant  and  Fichte 
with  that  of  Schelling  and  Hegel.  This  eclecticism 
had  been  already  attempted  by  Grubbe.  Boström 
first  studied  theology,  and  this  seemed  to  have  a 
hampering  effect  on  his  mind  when  he  wrote  about 
speculative  theology.  His  moral  philosophy  he 
derived  from  Kant.  To  call  him  an  original  philo- 
sopher is  provincial  patriotism.  His  influence  did 
not  reach  beyond  the  frontiers  of  Sweden,  nor  did  it 
outlast  the  sixties.  His  political  system  was  already 
antiquated  in  1865,  when  the  students  out  of  rever- 
ence for  the  philosopher,  had  still  to  declare,  conform- 
ably to  his  textbook,  that  the  representation  of 
the  four  estates  was  the  only  reasonable  one — a 
doctrine  which  was  subsequently  contradicted  in 
the  college  lectures. 

How  did  Boström  come  b}^  such  an  idea  ?  Can 
one  draw  an  inference  from  the  accidental  circum- 
stance that  he,  a  poor  man's  son  from  Norrland, 
came  into  too  close  touch  with  King  John  and  his 
court,  in  his  capacit}^  of  tutor  to  the  princes  ?  Could 
the  philosopher  escape  the  common  lot  of  generalising 
in  certain  respects,  from  his  own  predilections  and 
current    time-sanctioned     ideas  ?      Probably    not. 


130  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

Boström  as  an  idealist  was  subjective — so  subjective 
that  he  denied  reahty  an  independent  existence, 
declaring  that,  "to  be  is  to  be  perceived  (bj^  men)." 
The  world  of  phenomena  therefore,  according  to  him, 
exists  only  in  and  through  our  perceptions.  The 
error  of  the  deduction  was  overlooked,  and  it  was  a 
double  one.  The  system  rested  on  an  unproved 
assumption,  and  had  to  be  corrected ;  it  is  true  that 
the  phenomenal  world  only  exists  for  us  through 
our  perception,  but  that  does  not  prevent  its  existing 
for  itself  without  our  perception.  In  fact  science 
has  demonstrated  that  the  earth  already  existed 
with  a  very  high  degree  of  organic  life,  before  any 
one  was  there  to  perceive  it. 

Boström  broke  with  ecclesiastical  Christianity, 
but,  like  Kant  and  the  later  evolutionist  philoso- 
phers, retained  Christian  morality.  Kant  had  been 
arrested  in  the  bold  progress  of  his  thought  by  a 
want  of  psychological  knowledge,  and  had  simply 
laid  down  as  axioms  the  categorical  imperative 
and  the  practical  postulate.  The  moral  law,  which 
depends  on  the  epoch  and  changes  with  it,  received 
in  his  system  quite  a  Christian  colouring  as  God's 
command.  Boström  was  still  "  under  the  law  " ; 
he  judged  the  moral  worth  or  baseness  of  an  action 
simply  by  its  motives ;  according  to  him  the  only 
satisfactory  motive  is  that  regard  for  the  spiritual 
nature  of  duty  which  is  revealed  in  conscience. 
But  there  are  as  many  consciences  as  there  are 
religions  and  races ;  therefore  his  moral  system  was 
quite  sterile. 

Boström 's  importance  for  theological  development 


THE   'RUNA'   CLUB  131 

only  consisted  in  his  coming  forward  against  Bishop 
Beckman  in  the  discussion  regarding  the  doctrine 
of  hell  (1864),  although  that  doctrine  had  recently 
been  rejected  by  the  cultivated  with  the  assistance 
of  the  rationalists.  On  the  other  hand  Boström 
was  obstructive  in  his  pamphlets  The  Irresponsi- 
bility and  Divine  Right  of  the  Kitig  and  Are  the 
Estates  of  the  Realm  Justified  in  Resolving  on  and 
Carrying  Out  the  Change  in  the  So-called  (/)  Repre- 
sentation of  the  People  ?     (1865). 

In  his  capacity  as  an  ideahst,  Boström  is,  for  the 
present  generation,  not  only  without  significance, 
but  positively  reactionary.  He  is  nothing  but  a 
necessary  link  in  the  worthless  reactionary  philo- 
sophy which  followed  with  such  fatal  obscurantism 
the  "  illuminative "  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  He  has  lived  and  is  dead.  Peace  to  his 
ashes  ! 

Literature  ought  to  be  another  barometer  for 
testing  the  atmosphere  of  any  given  period.  And 
in  order  to  be  that,  it  must  be  free  to  deal  with  the 
questions  of  that  period ;  but  this,  the  then  prevailing 
sesthetic  theories  forbade. 

Poetry  ought  to  be  and  was  (according  to  Boström) 
a  recreation  like  the  other  fine  arts.  Under  such 
a  theory  and  influenced  by  the  prevalent  idolatry 
of  the  "  ego,"  poetry  became  merely  lyrical,  express- 
ing the  poet's  small  personal  feelings  and  inclination, 
and  reflecting  therefore  only  some  of  the  features 
of  the  period,  and  those  perhaps,  not  the  most 
important.  Only  two  names  in  the  poetry  of  the 
sixties  were  of  importance — Snoilsky  and  Björck. 


132  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

Snoilsky  was  "  awake,"  to  use  a  pietistic  expression, 
Björck  was  dead.  Both  were  born  poets,  as  the 
saying  is  ;  that  is  to  say,  their  talents  showed  them- 
selves earlier  than  usual.  Both  attained  distinction 
while  still  at  school,  early  won  honour  and  renown, 
and  by  birth  and  position  were  enabled  to  view  life 
from  its  sunny  heights.  Snoilsky,  without  knowing 
it,  was  under  the  power  of  the  spirit  of  the  new  age. 
Freed  from  the  fear  of  hell  and  monkish  morality, 
experiencing  the  retrenchment  of  his  privileges  as  a 
nobleman,  he  gave  free  play  both  to  mind  and  body. 
In  his  first  poems  he  was  a  revolutionary  and  praised 
the  cap  of  liberty ;  he  preached  the  emancipation  of 
the  flesh  and  had  a  certain  dislike  to  over-culture 
as  a  conventional  restraint.  But  as  a  poet,  he  did 
not  escape  the  poet's  tragic  destiny — ^not  to  be 
taken  seriously.  Poetry  in  the  eyes  of  the  public, 
was  simply  poetry,  and  Snoilsky  was  a  poet.  Björck 
had  a  mind  which  was  not  capable  of  receiving 
strong  impressions.  At  peace  with  himself,  languid, 
complete  from  the  begiiming,  he  lived  his  life  sunk  in 
his  own  reflections  or  noticed  only  the  trifling  events 
of  the  outer  world  and  described  them  neatly  and 
correctly.  Li  the  opinion  of  the  great  majority 
who  live  the  peaceful  life  of  automata  his  poetry 
shows  a  remarkable  degree  of  philanthropy.  But 
why  does  not  this  philanthropy  extend  itself  further 
to  large  circles  of  men,  and  to  humanity  at  large  ? 
In  the  writer's  opinion  Bjork's  philanthropy  does 
not  extend  beyond  the  limits  of  the  personal  quiet 
which  the  individual  attains  when  he  ignores  the 
duties  of  social  life.     He  is  satisfied  with  the  world 


THE    '  RUNA  '    CLUB  133 

because  the  world  has  been  kind  to  him ;  he  avoids 
strife  because  it  disturbs  his  own  serenity.  Björck 
is  an  example  of  the  fortunate  man  whose  life  is 
not  in  conflict  with  his  upbringing,  but  who  rather 
builds  up  stone  by  stone,  on  the  foundation  already 
laid ;  everything  proceeds  in  a  workmanlike  way  by 
level  and  rule  ;  the  house  is  finished, as  it  was  designed, 
without  the  plan  undergoing  any  alteration .  Stunted 
by  domestic  tjTanny,  tasting  early  the  sweets  of 
homage  and  reverence,  he  ceased  to  grow.  He 
accepted  Bostrom's  compromise  with  Christianity 
without  examining  it,  and  in  doing  so,  he  had  finished 
his  life-work.  His  poetry  is  especially  praised  for 
its  purity  and  spiritual  character.  What  is  this 
"  purity  "  which  in  our  days  is  so  sharply  contrasted 
with  the  sensual  ?  The  secret  is,  that  he  did  not 
get  her ;  just  as  Dante's  heavenly  love  for  Beatrice 
was  due  to  the  same  involuntary  cause.  Björck 
therefore  sang  of  the  unattainable  with  the  quiet 
melancholy  of  unsatisfied  love.  But  that,  however, 
is  no  virtue,  and  purity  should  be  a  virtue. 

In  short,  Björck  and  Snoilsky  sang  of  water  and 
drank  wine,  and  in  this  were  just  the  opposite  to  the 
poets  of  our  time,  who  are  said  to  sing  of  wine  and 
drink  water.  A  poet's  life  always  seems  to  be  at 
variance  with  his  teachings.  Why  ?  Is  it  that,  in 
composing,  he  wishes  to  escape  from  his  own  person- 
ality, and  fhid  another  ?  Is  it  a  wish  to  disguise 
himself  ?  Or  is  it  modesty,  the  fear  of  giving 
himself  away,  and  of  self -exposure  ?  This  is  a 
weighty  problem  for  future  psj^chologists  to  unravel. 

Björck  composed  poems  both  for  the  reformation 


134  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

of  the  constitution  in  1865,  and  for  the  restoration 
to  power  of  the  King.  He  saw  harmony  everywhere, 
and  when  he  celebrated  the  restored  union  between 
Sweden  and  Norway  in  1864,  he  was  extremely 
melodious.  He  also  praised  Abraham  Lincoln ; 
negro-emancipation  and  white  slavery — that  is  the 
ideal  of  freedom  of  the  Holy  Alliance  !  Revolution 
certainly,  but  legal  revolution  by  the  will  of  God  ! 
Well,  he  laiew  no  better,  and  few  did  at  that  time. 
Therefore  we  do  not  judge  the  man  but  only  his 
work,  the  motives  inspiring  which  are  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  posterity. 

Young  men  read  these  poets,  many  of  them  with 
great  edification.  They  proclaimed  no  new  era,  but 
prophesied  after  the  event  that  now  the  millennium 
was  come,  the  ideal  realised,  and  lines  of  demarcation 
obliterated  once  for  all.  They  looked  with  satis- 
faction on  their  creations,  rubbed  their  hands,  and 
found  them  all  good.  An  atmosphere  of  peace  had 
spread  itself  over  the  whole  of  Upsala  and  its  neigh- 
bourhood ;  now  one  might  sleep  till  Doomsday  was 
the  belief  of  old  and  young.  But  then  discordant 
sounds  began  to  be  heard,  and  in  the  days  of  universal 
peace  fire-beacons  began  to  be  seen  on  the  neighbour- 
ing mountain-tops.  From  NorAvay  open  water  was 
signalled  and  the  revolving  lights  were  kindled. 
Rome  captured  Greece,  but  Greece  re-captured 
Rome.  Sweden  had  captured  Norway,  but  now 
Norway  re-captured  Sweden.  Lorenz  Dietrichson 
was  appointed  as  professor  at  the  university  of 
Upsala  in  1861,  and  he  was  the  forerunner  of 
Norwegian  influence.     He  made  Sweden  acquainted 


THE    'RUNA'   CLUB  135 

with  Danish  and  Norwegian  Hterature,  then  almost 
unknown,  and  founded  the  literary  society  which 
produced  poets  like  Snoilsky  and  Björck. 

After  Norway  had  broken  loose  from  the  Danish 
monarchy  and  had  ceased  to  be  a  branch  of  the  head 
office  in  Copenhagen,  it  was  not  grafted  into  Sweden 
but  retreated  into  itself.  At  the  same  time  it  opened 
direct  commimication  with  the  continent.  Its 
awakening  to  independence  was  coincident  with  a 
strong  stream  of  foreign  influence.  It  was  Björnson 
who  first  roused  Norway  to  self-consciousness ;  but 
when  this  degenerated  into  a  narrow  patriotism, 
Ibsen  came  with  the  pruning  shears. 

As  the  strife  became  fiercer  and  Christiania  would 
not  lend  itself  to  be  a  field  of  battle,  the  conflict  was 
transferred  to  hospitable  Sweden.  The  Norwegian 
Avine  was  well  adapted  for  exportation ;  pamphlets 
grew  in  size  as  they  travelled  and  in  Sweden  became 
literature.  Thoughts  came  to  the  top  and  person- 
alities settled  at  the  bottom  of  the  vessel.  Ibsen  and 
Björnson  broke  into  Sweden  ;  Tidemand  and  Gude 
took  prizes  in  the  art  exhibition  of  1866 ;  Kierulf  and 
Nordraak  were  authorities  in  singing  and  music. 
Then  came  Ibsen's  Brand.  This  had  appeared 
in  1866,  but  John  did  not  see  it  till  1869.  It  made  a 
deep  impression  on  the  primitive  Christian  side  of 
him,  but  it  was  gloomy  and  severe.  The  final 
utterance  in  it  regarding  "  Deus  caritatis  "  was  not 
satisfjdng,  and  the  poet  seemed  to  have  had  too  much 
sympathy  with  his  hero  to  have  described  his  over- 
throw with  cold  irony. 

Brand  gave  John  a  good  deal  of  trouble.     He 


136  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

(Brand)  had  dropped  Christianity  but  kept  its  stem 
ascetic  morality ;  he  demanded  obedience  for  his 
old  doctrines  though  they  were  no  more  practicable  ; 
he  despised  the  tendencj^  of  the  time  towards  human- 
ity and  compromise,  but  ended  by  recommending 
the  God  of  compromise.  Brand  was  a  fanatic,  a 
pietist,  who  dared  to  believe  himself  right  against 
the  whole  world,  and  John  felt  himself  related  to 
this  terrible  egoist  who  was  wrong  besides.  No 
half -measures  !  go  straight  on  ;  break  down  everything 
that  stands  in  the  wa^^,  for  you  only  are  right  ! 
Jolm's  tender  conscience,  which  suffered  at  every 
step  he  took  lest  it  should  vex  his  father  or  friends, 
was  stupefied  by  Brand.  All  ties  of  consideration 
and  of  love  should  be  torn  asunder  for  the  sake  of 
"  the  cause."  That  John  was  no  longer  a  pietist 
was  a  piece  of  good  fortune,  otherwise  he  too  would 
have  been  overwhelmed  by  the  avalanche.^  But 
Brand  gave  him  a  belief  in  a  conscience  which  was 
purer  than  that  which  education  had  given  him,  and 
a  law  which  was  higher  than  conventional  law.  And 
he  needed  this  iron  back-bone  in  his  weak  back,  for 
he  had  long  periods  during  wliich  by  fits  and  starts 
and  out  of  mildness  he  thought  himself  wrong,  and 
the  first  who  came,  right ;  therefore,  he  was  also  very 
easily  misled.  Brand  was  the  last  Christian  who 
followed  an  old  ideal,  therefore  he  could  be  no  pattern 
for  one  who  felt  a  vague  inclination  to  revolt  against 
all  old  ideals. 

Brand  after   all   was   a    fuie   plant,  but  without 
any  roots  in  its  own  period ;  and,  therefore,  it  belonged 

^  Vide  the  end  of  Brand. 


THE    '  RUNA  '   CLUB  137 

to  the  herbarium.  Then  came  Peer  Gynt.  This 
was  rather  obscure  than  deep  and  had  its  value  as 
an  antidote  against  the  national  self-love.  The 
fact  that  Ibsen  was  neither  banished  nor  persecuted 
after  having  said  such  bitter  things  against  the  proud 
Norwegians,  shows  that  in  Norway  they  were  more 
honourable  fighters  than  the  Swedes  afterwards 
showed  themselves  to  be. 

Ibsen  was  at  that  time  regarded  as  a  misanthrope 
and  as  an  enemy  and  envier  of  Björnsen.  People 
were  divided  into  two  camps,  and  the  dispute  as  to 
which  of  the  two  was  the  greater  was  endless,  for 
it  concerned  an  artistic  problem — "  contents  or 
form." 

The  influence  of  Norwegian  on  Swedish  poetry 
has  been  great  and  partly  beneficent,  but  there  was 
a  peculiarly  Norwegian  element  in  it,  which  was  not 
adaptable  to  Sweden,  a  land  with  quite  another 
development.  In  the  sequestered  valleys  of  Norway 
there  lived  a  people  who,  under  the  pressure  of  need 
and  poverty,  found  ready  to  their  hand  in  the 
Christian  doctrine  of  renunciation  an  ascetic 
philosophy  which  promised  heaven  as  a  compensation 
for  earth's  hardships.  Nature  in  her  most  gloomy  and 
parsimonious  aspect,  a  damp  climate,  long  winters, 
great  distances  between  the  villages, — all  co- 
operated to  preserve  an  austere  mediaeval  type  of 
Christianity.  There  is  something  which  may  be 
said  to  resemble  insanity  in  the  Norwegian  char- 
acter, of  the  same  kind  as  the  English  "  spleen  ;  " 
and  possibly  the  intimate  relations  of  Norway  with 
the  hypochondriacal  islanders  may  have  impressed 


138  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

traces  on  its  civilisation.  In  Jonas  Lie's  Clair- 
voyant this  melancholy  is  depicted,  and  in  it  one 
finds  the  same  weird  atmosphere  as  in  the  Icelandic 
sagas,  and  the  theme  also  is  similar, — the  struggle 
of  the  spirit  against  physical  darloiess  and  cold. 
There  we  have  depicted  the  tragic  lot  of  the 
Norseman  banished  from  sminy  lands  to  gloomy 
wildernesses,  and  seeking  relief  b}'^  emigration,  the 
ethnographical  significance  of  which  has  been  over- 
looked in  view  of  its  economical  aspect.  The 
Norwegian  character  is  the  result  of  many  hundred 
3^ears  of  tyranny,  of  injustice,  of  hard  struggling 
for  a  livelihood,  of  want  of  gladness. 

Swedish  literature  should  have  avoided  absorbing 
these  national  peculiarities,  but  they  have  made 
it  half -Norwegian .  Brand  still  haunts  Swedish 
literature  \vith  his  ideal  demands,  with  which  the 
romanticised  and  cheerful  Swede  cannot  sincerely 
sympathise.  Therefore  this  foreign  garb  suits  him 
so  badl}^ ;  therefore  modern  Swedish  music  sounds 
so  unharmonious,  like  an  echo  of  the  violins  of 
Hardanger,  tuned  over  again  by  Grieg ;  therefore 
the  talk  of  greater  moral  purity  sounds  discordant 
in  the  mouth  of  the  vivacious  Swede.  He  has  not 
suffered  from  long  oppression  and  docs  not  need 
to  seek  himself  in  the  past ;  melancholy  has  not  so 
beset  him  in  his  open  fiat  land  of  lakes  and  rivers, 
and  therefore  a  sour  mien  becomes  him  ill. 

When  the  Swedes  received  great  and  novel  ideas 
by  way  of  Norway  or  direct  from  the  Continent 
through  Ibsen  and  Björnson,  they  should  have  kept 
the  kernel  and  throAvn  away  the  Norwegian  husk. 


THE   'RUNA'   CLUB  139 

Even  the  Doll's  House  is  Norwegian.  Nora  is 
related  to  the  Icelandic  women  who  wished  to  set 
up  a  matriarchate  ;  she  belongs  to  the  weird  imperi- 
ous women  in  Härtnännen  who  again  are  pure  Norse. 
In  them  the  emotions  have  become  frozen  or 
distorted  b^^  centuries  of  cognate  marriages. 

The  whole  Swedish  literature  of  feminism  is  ultra- 
Norwegian  ;  it  contains  the  same  immodest  demands 
on  the  man  and  petting  of  the  spoilt  woman.  Several 
young  authors  have  introduced  the  Norwegian  style 
into  Swedish ;  one  authoress  has  placed  the  scene 
of  her  book  in  Norway,  and  made  her  hero  talk 
Norwegian  !     Further  one  could  not  go  ! 

Let  us  welcome  foreign  influence  which  is  cosmo- 
politan ;  but  not  Norwegian,  for  that  is  provincial, 
and  we  have  plenty  of  the  same  kind  ourselves. 

So  John  found  himself  again  in  Upsala, — the 
same  Upsala  from  which  he  had  fled  nine  months 
before,  and  to  which  he  most  unwillingly  returned. 
To  be  compelled  to  a  course  which  he  did  not  wish 
always  made  him  feel  as  though  he  were  encounter- 
ing a  personal  foe,  who  cajoled  him  out  of  his  Avishes 
and  antipathies,  and  forced  him  to  bend.  Since  he 
still  believed  himself  under  God's  personal  provi- 
dence, he  accepted  that  as  though  it  were  for  his 
best.  Later  on  he  had  a  feeling  that  there  was  a 
malignant  power ;  this  developed  into  the  belief 
that  there  were  two  ruling  powers,  one  good,  one 
evil,  which  divided  the  empery,  or  ruled  alternatel}'. 

He  asked  himself  again,  "  Wliat  have  you  to  do 
here  ?  "     To  take  his  degree,  but  especially  to  cover 


140  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

his  retreat  from  the  theatre.  Privately  he  wished 
to  write  a  play,  and,  under  the  screen  of  its  success, 
wriggle  out  of  the  examination. 

At  first  he  was  not  at  all  comfortable  in  his  lonely 
attic.  He  had  become  accustomed  to  luxury,  a 
large  room,  a  good  table,  attendance  and  society. 
After  having  been  habituated  to  be  treated  as  a 
man  and  to  have  intercourse  with  older  and  culti- 
vated people,  he  found  himself  again  in  a  state  of 
pupilage  as  a  student.  But  he  cast  himself  into  the 
crowd  and  soon  found  himself  on  social  terms  with 
three  distinct  circles.  The  first  consisted  of  friends 
whom  he  met  by  day,  who  were  students  of  medicine 
and  natural  history  and  atheists .  From  them  he  heard 
for  the  first  time  the  name  of  Darwin  ;  but  it  passed 
by  him  like  a  doctrine  for  which  he  was  not  yet 
ripe.  His  evening  society  consisted  of  a  priest  and 
a  lawyer  with  whom  he  played  cards  till  deep  in  the 
night.  He  considered  himself  now  in  Upsala  merely 
to  grow  and  get  older,  and  that  it  was  a  matter  of 
indifference  what  he  did,  as  long  as  he  killed  the 
time.  He  drew  up  the  scheme  of  a  new  tragedy, 
Eric  XIV,  but  found  it  poor,  and  burnt  it,  for  his 
faculty  of  self-criticism  had  awakened  and  was  severer 
in  its  demands. 

Later  on  in  the  term  he  entered  a  third  society, 
which  formed  his  special  circle  during  the  whole  of 
his  time  at  Upsala  and  for  a  long  while  aftorAvards. 
One  evening  he  chanced  to  meet  a  young  com- 
panion with  whom  he  had  been  a  pupil  at  the 
private  school.  They  discussed  literature,  and  over 
a  glass  of  toddy  made  the  plan  of  forming  some 


THE   'RUNA'   CLUB  141 

young  poets  into  a  club  for  literary  work.  The 
plan  was  carried  out.  Besides  Jolin  and  the  other 
founder  of  the  club,  four  j^oung  students  were 
elected  to  it.  They  were  fine  young  fellows  of  an 
ideali.st  turn  of  mind,  as  the  saying  is,  with  high 
purposes  and  enthusiastic  for  vague  ideals.  They 
had  not  yet  come  into  contact  with  the  hard  realities 
of  life  ;  they  had  all  well-to-do  parents,  no  cares,  and 
knew  notliing  at  all  of  the  struggle  for  a  subsistence. 
John,  on  the  other  hand,  had  just  left  the  most  un- 
pleasant surroundings ;  he  had  seen  people  who 
were  always  ready  to  quarrel,  conceited,  empty- 
headed  pupils  of  the  Theatrical  Academy.  Here  he 
found  himself  transplanted  into  an  entirely  new 
world.  There  were  these  happy  youths  going  to 
their  well-supplied  tables,  smoking  fine  cigars, 
taking  walks,  and  poetising  beautifully  over  the 
beauty  of  life  which  they  knew  nothing  of. 

Rules  were  drawn  up  for  the  club,  which  received 
the  name  "  Runa,"  i.  e.  "  song."  The  choice  of 
this  title  was  probably  due  to  the  Northern  re- 
naissance which  came  in  with  the  Scandinavian 
movement.  Its  chief  ornaments  were  Karl  XV  in 
poetry,  Winge  and  Malmström  in  painting,  and 
Molin  in  sculpture.  Recently  it  had  been  quickened 
by  B j örnson 's  and  Ibsen's  dramas  on  subjects  from 
the  old  Norse  life.  The  study  of  Icelandic,  which 
had  been  newly  introduced  into  the  university,  also 
lent  strength  to  this  movement. 

The  number  of  members  of  the  club  was  not  to 
exceed  nine ;  each  of  them  was  known  by  a  Runic 
sign.     John    was    called    "  Frö "    and    the    other 


142  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

founder  of  the  club,  "  Ur."  Every  variety  of 
opinion  was  represented.  Ur  was  a  great  patriot 
and  venerated  Sweden  with  its  memories.  In  his 
opinion  it  had  the  most  brilliant  history  in  Europe, 
and  had  always  been  free.  For  the  rest  he  was  a 
practically  minded  man  with  a  special  faculty  for 
statistics,  politics,  and  biography;  he  was  a  severe 
and  clever  critic,  and  also  managed  the  affairs  of  the 
club.  He  was  a  reliable  friend,  good  company, 
helpful  and  hearty.  Secondly,  there  was  a  full- 
blooded  romanticist  who  read  Heine  and  drank 
absinthe — a  sensitive  youth  enthusiastic  for  all 
old  ideals,  but  especially  for  Heine.  There  was  also 
a  seraph  who  sang  of  the  indescribably  little,  espe- 
cially the  happiness  of  childhood  ;  fourthly-,  a  silent 
worshipper  of  nature,  and,  lastly,  an  eclectic  philo- 
sopher and  improvisator,  who  had  an  extraordinary 
faculty  for  improvising  in  any  style  whatever,  when 
requested.  Two  minutes  after  he  had  been  asked, 
he  would  stand  up  and  speak  or  sing  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment  in  the  character  of  Anacreon,  Horace, 
the  Edda,  or  any  one  else,  and  even  in  foreign 
languages. 

The  first  meeting  of  the  club  was  at  Thurs',  who 
was  lodged  the  most  comfortably  in  two  rooms  and 
had  the  best  pipes.  As  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
club  John  first  of  all  read  his  prologue,  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  rules  of  the  society,  had  to  be  in  verse. 
It  began  by  asking  after  the  ancient  bard  Brage  and 
his  harp  which  was  now  silent.  Brage  represented 
the  new  Norse  element,  the  resuscitation  of  which 
was  believed  necessary.     The  whole  programme  of 


THE   'RUNA'   CLUB  143 

the  idealists  was  called  "  a  trivial  striving."  All 
the  great  efforts  of  their  contemporaries  after  reality 
and  for  the  improvement  of  the  conditions  of  life 
was  "  trivial."  The  spirit  was  taken  prisoner  in 
matter,  and  therefore  all  that  was  material  was  to 
be  regarded  as  the  enemy.  Such  was  the  teaching 
of  the  romanticists,  and  of  Jolm's  prologue.  Then 
the  poet  went  out  into  nature,  listened  to  the  bells 
of  the  cathedral,  the  wind,  the  pines,  and  the 
singing  of  the  birds  in  order  to  ask  the  very  natural 
question:  "Nature  sings;  why  should  I  then  be 
silent  ?  "  He  resolved  to  be  no  longer  silent  but 
to  sing, — about  the  joyous  youthful  spring-time  of 
life,  its  autumn,  and  about  love  to  one's  native  soil. 
Then  (he  said)  came  the  wise  man  with  the  frozen 
heart,  took  his  song,  dissected  it  and  found  that  it 
was  all  nonsense.  Thus  the  song  was  killed  by 
"  overwiseness." 

It  is  not  easy  to  say  exactly  now  what  John 
meant  by  "overwiseness"  in  1870.  He  probably 
had  simply  forebodings  of  future  critics,  and  the 
"  wise  man  "  was  no  other  than  the  reviewer.  Then 
he  inveighed  against  the  wretched  mercenary  souls 
who  worship  the  golden  calf  but  do  not  love  songs. 
This  had  no  connection  with  contemporary  matters, 
for  the  sixties  were  remarkable  for  bad  harvests 
and  consequently  for  want  of  gold.  The  swindles 
by  company-promoters  began  with  the  seventies. 
But  it  was  the  custom  of  the  contemporary  poets 
to  attack  money  and  the  golden  calf,  and  therefore 
John  did  so  in  his  prologue.  Now  began  a  life  of 
poetic  idleness.     Every  evening  they  met  either  in 


144  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

a  restaurant,  or  in  each  other's  rooms.  But  the 
time  was  not  wasted  in  view  of  his  future  author- 
ship. John  could  borrow  books  from  the  well- 
stocked  libraries  of  his  friends,  and  the  interchange 
of  opinions  accustomed  him  to  look  at  literature 
from  different  points  of  view.  But  for  them  real 
life,  public  interests,  contemporary  politics  did  not 
exist ;  they  lived  in  dreams.  Sometimes  his  lower- 
class  consciousness  awoke,  and  he  asked  liimseK 
what  he  had  to  do  among  these  rich  youths.  But 
he  soon  stilled  these  scruples  by  drink  and  talk,  and 
encouraged  himself  to  go  forward  and  demand 
something  of  life,  for  he  had  in  his  companions' 
opinion  a  good  chance. 

His  room  was  a  wretched  one ;  the  rain  came 
through  the  roof,  and  he  had  no  proper  bed,  but 
only  a  plank-bed,  which  in  the  day-time  served  as 
a  sofa.  When  time  hung  heavily  on  his  hands  and 
he  grew  weary  of  poetical  discussions  he  looked  up 
his  old  school-fellow,  the  natural  history  student. 
There  he  looked  through  the  microscope,  and  heard 
of  Darwin  and  the  new  scientific  views.  His  friend 
gave  him  well-meant  practical  advice  and  recom- 
mended him  to  get  out  of  his  difficulties  by  writing 
a  one -act  play  in  verse  for  the  Theatre  Roj^al. 

John  objected  that  his  dramatic  talent  had  not 
scope  enough  in  one  act,  and  said  that  he  would 
rather  write  a  tragedy  in  five. 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  harder  to  get  that  accepted," 
replied  his  friend.  Finally  he  let  himself  be  per- 
suaded and  determined  to  carry  out  a  small  idea 
he  had  of  a  short  play  based  on  Thorwaldsen's  first 


THE    'RUNA"   CLUB  145 

visit  to  Rome.  His  friend  lent  him  books  on  Italy 
and  John  set  to  work.  In  fourteen  days  the  piece 
was  readJ^ 

"  That  will  be  acted,"  said  his  friend.  "  It  has 
dramatic  points,  you  see." 

Since  it  was  still  a  long  time  to  the  next  meeting 
of  the  club,  Jolm  hastened  in  the  evening  to  Thurs 
and  Rejd  and  read  the  piece  to  them.  They  were 
both  of  the  same  opinion  as  the  natural  history 
student,  that  the  piece  would  be  performed.  They 
had  a  champagne  supper,  and  kept  drinking  till  the 
morning,  and  then  went  to  sleep  on  the  floor  of 
Rejd's  room  with  the  punch-glasses  by  them.  In 
a  couple  of  hours  they  awoke,  fuiished  their  half- 
empty  glasses  at  sunrise  and  went  out  to  continue 
the  celebration  of  the  occasion. 

The  sjanpathy  of  John's  friends  was  hearty, 
unselfish  and  warm,  without  a  trace  of  envy.  He 
always  remembered  with  pleasure  this  first  success 
as  one  of  the  brightest  recollections  of  his  youth. 
The  enthusiastic,  devoted  Rejd  increased  Holm's 
debt  of  gratitude  bj^  copying  out  the  piece  in  his 
graceful  hand-writing.  Then  it  was  sent  to  the 
board  of  management  of  the  Theatre  Royal.  Spring 
arrived  and  they  spent  the  month  of  May  in  a  con- 
tinual carouse.  The  club  had  a  small  room  in  the 
restaurant  Lilla  Förderfvet  for  their  evening  suppers. 
There  they  talked,  made  speeches,  and  drank 
enormously.  At  last  the  term  ended  and  they  had 
to  part,  but  they  arranged  to  meet  once  more  at 
Stockholm,  and  celebrate  the  festival  day  of  the 
club  by  an  excursion  into  the  country. 

L 


146  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

At  six  o'clock  one  June  morning  the  four  members 
of  the  club  met  at  Skeppsholm,  where  they  had  hired 
a  rowdng-boat.  The  chest  of  the  club,  a  card-board 
box  containing  documents,  was  stowed  away  with 
baskets  of  provisions  and  bottles  of  wine.  After 
Os  and  Rejd  had  taken  the  oars,  they  steered  the 
boat  to  the  canal  leading  through  the  Zoological 
Gardens,  in  order  to  reach  the  place  they  had  ap- 
pointed, a  promontory  of  Liding  Island.  Thurs 
played  airs  on  the  flute  to  Bellmann's  songs,  and 
Frö  (John)  accompanied  him  on  a  guitar  which  he 
had  learnt  to  plaj^  at  Upsala. 

As  soon  as  they  landed,  breakfast  was  laid  in  a 
meadow  by  the  shore.  The  club-chest  adorned  with 
leaves  and  flowers  was  set  in  the  middle  of  the  table- 
cloth, and  on  it  were  set  the  brandj^-bottles  and 
glasses.  John,  who  had  studied  antiquities  for  his 
play,  Sinking  Hellas,  arranged  the  meal  in  the 
Greek  style,  so  that  they  wore  garlands,  and  ate 
reclining.  A  fire  was  lit  between  some  stones  and 
coffee  was  made.  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning 
they  drank  brandy  and  punch. 

John  read  his  drama,  The  Free-thinker,  which 
was  duly  criticised.  Then  they  gave  full  course 
to  their  eloquence.  Thurs  was  the  best  speaker; 
he  could  express  emotions  and  thoughts  rhythmic- 
ally. Poems  were  read  and  received  with  applause. 
John  sang  folk-songs  to  the  accompaniment  of  his 
guitar,  some  on  sentimental  subjects,  and  some  on 
improper  ones.  At  noon  they  were  still  in  high 
spirits  but  inclined  to  be  sleepy. 

In  the  afternoon  when  the  sun  was  over  Lilla 


THE    'RUNA'   CLUB  147 

Värtan  they  had  a  short  sleep,  and  then  the  carouse 
passed  into  a  new  phase.  Thurs,  the  Israelite,  had 
recited  a  poem  on  the  greatness  of  the  North,  and 
called  on  the  old  gods  of  Scandinavia.  Ur,  the 
patriot,  denied  him  the  right  to  appropriate  other 
people's  gods.  The  Je^^ash  question  came  up; 
they  took  fire  and  nearly  quarrelled,  but  ended  by 
embracing. 

Then  began  the  sentimental  stage.  They  had  to 
weep,  for  alcohol  has  this  effect  on  the  membranes 
of  the  stomach  and  the  lachrymal  ducts.  Ur  first 
felt  this  and  unconsciously  sought  for  a  melancholy 
subject.  He  burst  into  tears.  When  asked  why, 
he  did  not  know,  but  said  at  last  that  he  had  been 
treated  as  a  buffoon,  which  he  always  was.  He 
declared  that  he  had  a  very  serious  nature  and  that 
he  also  had  great  troubles  which  no  one  knew  about, 
but  now  he  unburdened  his  heart  and  told  us  a 
domestic  story.  After  he  had  done  so,  he  became 
cheerful  again. 

But  the  evening  was  long  and  they  began  to  wish 
to  go  home.  Their  brains  were  emptj^;  they  were 
tired  of  each  other,  and  weary  of  play  and  drinking. 
They  began  to  reflect  and  examine  the  philosophy 
of  intoxication.  From  whence  do  men  derive  tliis 
desire  to  make  themselves  senseless  ?  What  lies 
behind  it  ?  Is  it  the  southern  exile's  longing  for  a 
lost  sunny  existence  in  northern  lands  ?  There 
must  be  some  felt  necessity  underlying  intoxication, 
for  a  vice  like  this  would  not  have  laid  hold  of  all 
mankind  without  reason.  Is  it  that  the  member  of 
society  in  a  state  of  intoxication  throws  awaj^  all  the 


148  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

lies  of  society?  For  the  laws  of  social  intercourse 
involuntarily  forbid  one  to  speak  out  all  one's 
thoughts.  Otherwise  whence  comes  the  saying, 
In  vino  Veritas?  Why  did  the  Greeks  honour 
Bacchus  as  one  who  improved  men  and  manners  ? 
Why  did  Dionysus  love  peace,  and  why  was  he  said 
to  increase  riches  ?  Has  wine,  which  is  chiefly 
drunk  by  men,  some  influence  on  the  development 
of  man's  intelligence  and  activity,  so  that  he  be- 
comes superior  to  woman  ?  And  why  do  the 
Muhammadans  who  drink  no  wine  stand  on  what 
is  regarded  as  a  lower  level  of  civilisation  ?  As  salt 
is  used  as  a  daily  nutrient  to  replace  the  salts  which 
their  hunting  forefathers  found  in  the  blood  of 
beasts  of  the  chase,  does  not  wine  compensate  for 
some  lost  nutritive  matter  belonging  to  earlier 
stages,  and,  if  so,  which  ?  Some  idea  or  necessity 
must  underlie  so  singular  a  custom. 

Perhaps  the  need  of  losing  consciousness  justifies 
the  axiom  of  the  pessimists  that  consciousness  is 
the  beginning  of  suffering.  Wine  makes  one  naive 
and  unconscious  as  a  child ;  or  even  as  an  animal. 
Is  it  the  lost  paradise  which  one  wishes  to  recover  ? 
But  the  remorse  which  follows  it  ?  Remorse  and 
acidity  of  the  stomach  have  the  same  symptoms. 
Is  there  then  a  confusion,  and  are  sensations  called 
"  remorse  "  which  are  only  heart-burn  ?  Or  does 
the  drinker  returned  to  consciousness  regret  that 
he  has  exposed  himself  by  daylight  and  betrayed  his 
secrets  ?  There  is  something  to  feel  remorse  for  in 
that  !  He  is  ashamed  that  he  has  been  taken  by 
surprise,   he   feels  afraid   because   he   has  exposed 


THE    'RUNA'   CLUB  149 

himself  and  given  away  his  weapons.  Remorse 
and  fear  are  close  neighbours. 

Yet  once  more  the  members  of  the  club  drowned 
their  consciousness  in  drink  and  then  got  into  the 
boat  to  proceed  home.  John  and  Thurs  began  a 
dispute  about  Bellmann  ^  which  lasted  till  they 
reached  Skeppsholm,  and  closed  with  sharp  remarks 
on  both  sides. 

John  had  an  old  grudge  against  this  poet.  Once 
as  a  child,  he  had  been  ill  for  a  whole  summer, 
and  had  by  chance  taken  Bellmann 's  Fredman' s 
Epistles  out  of  his  father's  book-case.  The  book 
seemed  to  him  silly,  but  he  was  too  young  to  form  a 
well-gromided  opinion  on  it.  Later  on,  it  some- 
times happened  that  his  father  sat  at  the  piano,  and 
hummed  Bellmann's  songs.  The  boy  found  it  in- 
comprehensible that  his  father  and  uncle  admired 
them  so  much.  Subsequently  one  Christmas  he 
saw  a  violent  controversy  break  out  between  his 
mother  and  his  uncle  on  the  subject  of  Bellmann. 
The  latter  set  the  poet  above  everything — Bible, 
sermons  and  all.  There  were  depths,  he  said,  in 
Bellmann.  Depths  indeed  !  Probably  Atterbom's 
romanticist  one-sided  criticism  had  filtered  through 
the  daily  papers  to  the  middle  classes.  As  a  school- 
boy and  student,  John  had  sung  "  Up,  Amaryllis  " 
and  other  idylls  of  Bellmann's,  naturally  without 
understanding  them  or  thinking  of  the  meaning  of 
the  words.  He  sang  in  a  quartette,  or  choir,  for  it 
sounded  well.  Finally,  in  1867,  he  read  Ljunggren 's 
lectures  and  a  light  broke  upon  him,  but  not  one  of 

^  Famous  Swedish  poet. 


150  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

Ljiinggren's  kindling.  He  thought  the  latter  mad. 
Bellmann  was  a  ballad-singer,  that  was  true,  but  a 
great  poet,  the  greatest  poet  of  the  North  ? — 
impossible  ! 

Bellmann  had  sung  his  songs  composed  on  the 
French  model  for  the  Court  and  his  own  friends,  but 
not  for  the  common  people,  who  would  not  have 
understood  "Amaryllis,"  "Eol,"  "The  Tritons," 
"  Fröja  "  and  all  the  rococo  stock-in-trade.  He 
died  and  was  forgotten.  Wliy  had  he  been  dis- 
interred by  Atterbom  ?  Because  the  pugnacious 
romantic  school  required  an  embodiment  of  irregu- 
larity to  set  up  against  the  classicists,  as  they 
had  nothing  of  their  own  to  boast  of.  Thus  the 
romantic  school  gained  the  day ;  and  when  one 
considers  how  cowardly  most  people  are  in  the 
face  of  public  opinion,  and  the  tendency  of  the 
middle-class  to  ape  its  superiors  and  reverence 
authority,  one  ceases  to  be  surprised  at  the  elevation 
of  Bellmann.  Ljunggren  and  Eichhorn  outstripped 
Atterbom  in  finding  beauty  and  genius  in  his  writ- 
ings ;  they  were  reinforced  by  the  clerical  element, 
and  thus  the  idol  was  set  up  for  worship.  Byström, 
the  sculptor,  had  already  magnified  the  little  lottery- 
secretary  and  court-poet  into  a  Dion3'sus  and  lent 
him  the  features  of  an  antique  bust  of  Bacchus. 

Bellmann 's  idylls  are  careless,  extemporised  com- 
positions with  forced  rhymes,  and  as  disconnected 
as  the  thoughts  in  the  brain  of  a  drunkard.  One 
does  not  know  whether  it  is  day  or  night,  the  thunder 
rolls  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  waves  beat  while  the 
boat  is  floating  calmly  on  the  waters.     They  simply 


THE   'RUNA'   CLUB  151 

provide  a  text  for  music,  and  for  that  purpose  one 
might  use  a  book  of  addresses.  The  meaning  of  the 
words  does  not  matter,  as  long  as  they  sound  well. 

According  to  his  custom  Thurs  took  the  matter 
personally.  It  was  an  attack  on  his  good  taste  and 
on  his  honour,  for  John  said  that  his  admiration  of 
Bellmann  was  mere  humbug ;  that  he  had  read 
himself  into  it,  and  that  it  was  not  genuine.  Thurs 
on  the  other  hand  declared  John  to  be  presumptuous, 
because  he  wished  to  criticise  the  greatest  Swedish 
poet. 

"  Prove  that  he  is  the  greatest,"  said  John. 

"  Tegnér  and  Atterbom  say  so." 

"  That  is  no  proof." 

"  Simply  because  you  have  a  spirit  of  contra- 
diction," 

"  Doubt  is  the  beginning  of  certainty,  and  absurd 
assertions  must  arouse  opposition  in  a  healthy 
brain." 

And  so  on. 

Although  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  judgment 
which  holds  good  universally,  since  every  judgment 
is  indi^^dualistic,  there  are,  on  theother  hand,  judg- 
ments of  a  majority  and  of  a  party.  By  means  of 
these  John  was  suppressed  and  kept  silence  on  the 
subject  of  Bellmann  for  many  years.  Only  when 
later  on  the  old  historian  Fryxell  proved  that  Bell- 
mann was  not  the  apostle  of  sobriety  which  Eichhorn 
and  Ljunggren  had  made  him  out  to  be,  and  also 
no  god,  but  a  mediocre  ballad-singer,  did  John  see 
a  gleam  of  hope  that  his  individual  opinion  might 
become  some  day  the  opinion  of  the  majority.     But 


152  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

he  already  saw  the  question  from  another  point  of 
view ;  Sweden  would  have  been  neither  unhappier 
nor  worse,  if  Bellmann  had  never  lived.  He  would 
like  to  have  said  to  the  patriots  and  democrats, 
"  Bellmann  was  a  poet  of  Stockholm  and  of  the 
Court,  who  jested  verj^  cruelly  with  poor  people." 
He  would  like  to  have  said  to  the  Good  Templars 
who  sang  Bellmann's  songs,  "  You  are  singing  drink- 
ing songs  wliich  were  written  during  fits  of  intoxica- 
tion and  celebrate  drink."  For  his  own  part,  John 
held  that  Bellmann's  songs  were  pleasant  to  sing 
because  of  the  light  French  melodies  which  accom- 
panied them,  and  as  for  their  French  moraHty  it  did 
not  vex  him  at  all — quite  the  contrary.  But 
earlier,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he  was  vexed  by 
it,  for  he  was  an  idealist  and  desired  purity  in  poetry, 
just  as  the  surviving  ideahsts  and  admirers  of 
Bellmann  do  at  the  present  time. 

These  have  used  the  word  "  humour  "  to  save 
themselves  and  their  morality.  But  what  do  they 
mean  by  "  humour  "  ?  Is  it  jest  or  earnest  ?  AVhat 
is  jest  ?  The  reluctance  of  the  cowardl}^  to  speak 
out  his  mind  ?  Humour  reflects  the  double  nature 
of  man, — the  indifference  of  the  natural  man  to 
conventional  morality,  and  the  Christian's  sigh  over 
immoralitj"  which  is  after  all  so  enticing  and  seduc- 
tive. Humour  speaks  with  two  tongues, — one  of 
the  satyr,  the  other  of  the  monk.  The  humorist 
lets  the  maenad  loose,  but  for  old  unsomid  reasons 
thinks  that  he  ought  to  flog  her  with  rods.  This  is 
a  transitional  form  of  humour  which  is  passing 
away,  and  already  at  the  last  gasp.     The  greatest 


THE    'RUNA'   CLUB  153 

modern  writers  have  thrown  away  the  rod,  and  play 
the  hypocrite  no  longer,  but  speak  their  minds 
plainly  out.  The  old  tippler's  sentimentality  can 
no  longer  count  for  "a  good  heart,"  for  it  has  been 
discovered  to  be  merely  bad  nerves. 

After  arguing  till  they  were  wear}^,  the  members 
of  the  club  landed  in  Stockholm  harbour. 


CHAPTER   IX 

BOOKS    AND    THE    STAGE 

The  history  of  the  development  of  a  soul  can  be 
sometimes  written  by  giving  a  simple  bibliography' ; 
for  a  man  who  lives  in  a  narrow  circle  and  never 
meets  great  men  personally,  seeks  to  make  their 
acquaintance  through  books.  The  fact  that  the 
same  books  do  not  make  the  same  impression,  nor 
have  the  same  effect  upon  all,  shows  their  relative 
powerlessness  to  convert  anjbody.  For  example, 
we  call  the  criticism  with  which  we  agree  good ; 
the  criticism  which  contradicts  our  views  is  bad. 
Thus  we  seem  to  be  educated  with  preconceived 
views,  and  the  book  which  strengthens,  expresses 
and  develops  these  makes  an  impression  on  us. 
The  danger  of  a  one-sided  education  through  books 
is  that  most  books,  especially  those  composed  at  the 
end  of  an  era,  and  at  the  university,  are  antiquated. 
The  youth  who  has  received  old  ideals  from  his 
parents  and  teachers  is  accordingly  necessarily  out 
of  date  before  his  education  is  completed.  When 
he  enters  manhood,  he  is  generally  obliged  to  fling 
away  his  whole  stock  of  old  ideas,  and  be  born  again, 
as  it  were.  Time  has  gone  by  him,  while  he  was 
reading  the  old  books,  and  he  finds  himself  a  stranger 
among  his  contemporaries. 

154 


BOOKS  AND  THE  STAGE     155 

Johii  had  spent  his  youth  in  accumulating  anti- 
quarian lore.  He  knew  all  about  Marathon  and 
Cannae,  the  war  of  the  Spanish  succession  and  the 
Thirty  Years'  War,  the  Middle  Ages  and  antiquit}^ ; 
but  -when  the  war  between  France  and  Germany 
broke  out,  he  did  not  know  the  cause  of  it.  He 
read  about  it  as  he  would  have  read  a  play,  and  was 
interested  to  see  what  the  result  of  it  would  be. 

In  Kristineberg,  where  he  spent  the  summer  with 
his  parents,  he  lay  out  on  the  grass  in  the  park  and 
read  Oehlenschläger.  For  his  degree  examination, 
he  had,  besides  his  chief  subject — sesthetics, — to 
choose  a  special  one,  and,  enticed  by  Dietrichson's 
lectures,  he  had  chosen  Danish  literature.  In 
Oehlenschläger  he  had  found  the  summit  of  Northern 
poetry.  That  was  for  him  the  quintessence  of 
poetry, — the  directness  which  he  admired  perhaps 
for  the  very  reason  that  he  had  not  got  it.  The 
Danish  language  perhaps  also  contributed  to  this 
result ;  it  seemed  to  him  an  idealised  Swedish,  and 
sounded  like  his  mother-speech  from  the  lips  of  a 
woman  worshipped  from  afar.  When  he  read 
Oehlenschlager's  Helge,  Tegner's  Frithiofs  Saga 
seemed  to  him  petty  ;  he  fomid  it  unwieldy,  prosaic, 
clerical,  unpoetic. 

Oehlenschläger 's  dramas  were  a  book  which  had 
an  influence  on  John  by  way  of  a  supplementary 
contrast.  Perhaps  the  romantic  element  in  them 
found  an  echo  in  the  youth's  mind,  which  had  now 
awoke  to  poetic  activity,  and  looked  upon  poetry 
and  romance  as  identical.  Other  contributory 
circumstances  were  his  liking  for  Norse  antiquities 


156  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

which  Oehlenschläger  had  just  discovered,  and 
the  unrequited  love  he  had  just  then  for  a  blond 
maiden  who  was  engaged  to  a  lieutenant.  But  the 
impression  made  by  Oehlenschläger  was  only 
fleeting,  and  hardly  lasted  a  year ;  it  was  a  light 
spring  breeze  which  passed  by. 

It  fared  worse  with  John's  stud}'  of  aesthetics  as 
expounded  by  Ljunggren  in  two  closely  printed 
volumes,  containing  the  views  of  all  philosophers  on 
the  Beautiful,  but  giving  no  satisfactory  defmition 
of  it. 

John  had  studied  the  antique  in  the  National 
Museum,  and  asked  himself  how  the  pot-house  scenes 
of  the  Dutch  genre  painters  which,  when  they 
occurred  in  reality,  were  called  ugly,  could  be 
reckoned  among  beautiful  pictures,  although  they 
were  in  no  way  idealised.  To  this  the  aesthetic 
philosophers  gave  no  answer.  They  shirked  the 
question  and  set  up  one  theory  after  another,  but 
the  only  excuse  they  could  fuid  for  the  admission 
of  ugliness  was  that  it  acted  as  a  foil,  and  provided 
a  comic  element.  But  a  strong  suspicion  had  been 
aroused  in  Jolm  that  the  "  Beautiful  "  was  not 
always  beautiful. 

Furthermore,  he  was  troubled  by  doubts  whether 
it  was  possible  to  have  independent  standards  of 
taste.  In  the  newly -founded  paper,  the  Schwedische 
Zeitschrift,  he  had  read  discussions  about  works  of 
art,  and  seen  how  disputants  on  both  sides  defended 
their  position  with  equally  strong  arguments.  One 
sought  beauty  in  form,  another  in  subject,  and  a 
third  in  the  harmony  between  the  two.     Accord- 


BOOKS  AND   THE   STAGE  157 

ingly  a  well-painted  subject  from  still  life  can  rank 
higher  than  the  Niobe,  for  this  group  of  statuary  is 
not  beautiful  in  its  outlines,  the  arrangement  of 
the  draper}'  of  the  principal  figure  being  especially 
tasteless  although  the  judgment  of  the  majority 
regards  the  work  as  sublime.  Therefore  the  subhme 
does  not  necessarily  consist  in  beauty  of  form, 

Victor  Hugo's  romances  had  found  a  fertile  soil 
in  John's  mind.  The  revolt  against  society;  the 
reverence  paid  to  Nature  by  the  poet  living  on  a 
lonely  island ;  the  scorn  for  the  ever-prevalent 
stupidity ;  the  indignation  against  formal  religion 
and  the  enthusiasm  for  God  as  the  Creator  of  all, — 
all  that  was  germinating  in  the  young  man's  mind 
began  to  grow,  but  was  stifled  by  the  autumn  leaf- 
drifts  of  old  books. 

Jolm's  life  in  the  domestic  circle  was  now  a  quiet 
one.  The  storms  had  subsided;  his  brothers  and 
sisters  were  grown  up.  His  father,  who  still  always 
sat  over  his  account-ledgers,  calculating  the  ways 
and  means  of  providing  for  his  flock  of  children, 
had  become  older,  and  now  perceived  that  Jolm  was 
also  older.  The}''  often  discussed  together  topics  of 
common  interest.  As  regards  the  Franco-German 
War  they  were  both  fairly  neutral.  As  Latinised 
Teutons  they  did  not  love  the  German.  They 
hated  and  feared  him  as  a  sort  of  uncle  with  a  right 
of  seniority  against  the  Swedes,  and  they  did  not 
forget  that  victorious  Prussia  had  once  been  a 
Swedish  province.  The  Swede  had  become  more 
French  than  he  was  aware,  and  now  he  felt  conscious 
of   his  relationship   to    la  grämde   nation.      In   the 


158  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

evenings  when  thej'  sat  in  the  garden  and  the  noise 
of  traffic  had  ceased,  they  heard  the  singing  of  the 
Marseillaise  from  Blanch's  cafe,  and  the  hurrahs 
which  were  soon  to  be  silent. 

In  August,  when  the  theatres  re -opened,  John 
received  the  long-desired  news  that  his  play  had 
been  accepted  for  the  stage.  That  was  the  fu-st 
intoxicating  success  which  he  had  experienced. 
To  have  a  play  accepted  at  the  Theatre  Royal  when 
he  was  only  twenty-one  was  sufficient  compensation 
for  all  his  misfortunes.  His  words  would  reach  the 
public  from  the  first  stage  in  the  land ;  liis  failure 
as  an  actor  would  be  forgotten  ;  his  father  would 
see  that  his  son  amid  all  his  notorious  fluctuations 
had  chosen  right,  and  all  would  be  well.  In  autunm, 
before  the  university  term  began,  the  piece  was  per- 
formed. It  was  naive,  pious  and  full  of  reverence 
for  art,  but  had  one  dramatic  scene  which  saved  it 
in  spite  of  its  slightness — Thorwaldsen  about  to 
shatter  the  statue  of  Jason  with  his  hammer. 
But  on  the  other  hand  the  piece  contained  a  pre- 
sumptuous outburst  against  contemporary  rhjTiiers. 
What  was  the  author's  intention  in  that  ?  How 
could  a  beginner  who  had  so  many  forced  rhymes 
himself,  cast  a  stone  at  another  ?  It  Mas  a  piece 
of  temerity  ^\'hich  fomid  its  own  punishment.  Jolm 
stole  to  the  bottom  of  the  third  row  of  seats  to  \'iew 
the  performance  of  his  piece  from  a  standing  position. 
Rejd  was  already  there  before  him  and  the  curtain 
was  up.  John  felt  as  though  he  stood  under  an 
electric  machine.  Every  nerve  quivered,  his  legs 
shook,  and  his  tears  ran  the  whole  time  from  pure 


BOOKS  AND  THE  STAGE     159 

nervousness.  Rejd  had  to  hold  his  hand  in  order 
to  quiet  him.  Now  and  then  there  was  applause, 
but  John  knew  that  it  was  mostly  from  his  relatives 
and  friends,  and  did  not  let  himself  be  deceived. 
Every  stupidity  which  had  inadvertently  escaped 
him  now  jarred  on  his  ear,  and  made  him  quiver ; 
he  saw  nothing  but  crudeness  in  the  piece  ;  he  felt 
so  ashamed  that  his  ears  burned  ;  before  the  curtain 
fell  he  rushed  away  out  into  the  dark  market-place. 

He  felt  as  though  annihilated.  The  attack  on 
the  priests  was  stupid  and  unjust ;  the  glorification 
of  poverty  and  pride  seemed  to  him  false,  his  de- 
scription of  the  relationship  between  father  and 
son  was  c;yiiical.  How  could  he  have  shown  off  in 
this  absurd  way  ?  It  seemed  to  him  as  though  he 
had  exposed  his  nakedness,  and  shame  overpowered 
every  other  feeling. 

On  the  other  hand  he  found  the  actors  good ; 
the  mise  en  seme  was  more  appropriate  than  he 
had  expected.  Everything  was  good  except  the 
piece  itself.  He  wandered  down  to  the  Norrström, 
and  felt  inclined  to  dro%\ii  himself.  What  most 
annoyed  him  was  that  he  had  so  openly  exhibited 
his  feelings.  Whence  came  that  ?  And  why  should 
one  in  general  be  ashamed  of  such  exhibitions  ?  Why 
are  the  feelings  so  sacred  ?  Perhaps  because  the 
feelings  in  general  are  false,  as  they  only  express  a 
physical  sensation,  in  which  personality  of  the 
individual  does  not  fully  participate.  If  it  is  really 
so,  then  Jolm  was  ashamed  as  an  ordinary  man,  to 
have  been  mitruthful  in  his  writing  and  to  have 
worn  disguise. 


160  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

To  be  moved  at  the  sight  of  human  suffering  is 
regarded  as  a  mark  of  fine  feeling  and  meritorious, 
but  it  is  said  to  be  only  a  natural  reflex-movement. 
One  involuntarily  transfers  the  sufferings  of  the 
other  to  oneself  and  sufifers  for  one's  own.  sake. 
Another's  tears  could  bring  one  to  weep  just  as 
another's  yawning  could  make  one  yawn.  That 
was  all.  John  felt  ashamed  that  he  had  lied  and 
caught  himself  in  the  act,  though  the  public  had 
not  caught  him. 

No  one  is  such  a  merciless  critic  as  a  dramatist 
who  sees  his  own  play  acted.  He  lets  no  single 
word  pass  through  his  sieve.  He  does  not  lay  the 
blame  on  the  actors,  but  generally  admires  them  for 
rendering  his  stupidities  with  such  taste.  Jolm 
found  his  play  stupid.  It  had  lain  by  for  half  a 
year,  and  perhaps  he  had  outgroAvn  it.  Another 
piece  was  performed  after  it  which  lasted  for  two 
hours.  During  the  whole  time  he  wandered  about 
the  streets  in  the  darkness,  feeling  ashamed  of 
himself.  He  had  made  an  appointment  to  drink  a 
glass  with  some  friends  and  relatives  after  the  per- 
formance in  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  but  remained  away. 
He  saw  they  were  looking  for  him  but  did  not  wish 
to  meet  them.  So  they  went  in  again  to  see  the 
second  play.  At  last  it  was  over.  The  spectators 
streamed  out  and  dispersed  through  the  streets.  He 
hastened  away  in  order  not  to  hear  their  comments. 

At  last  he  saw  a  single  group  standing  under  the 
portico  of  the  dramatic  theatre.  They  were  looking 
out  in  all  directions  and  called  him.  Finally  he 
came  forward  as  pale  and  melancholy  as  a  corpse. 


BOOKS  AND  THE  STAGE     161 

The3^  congratulated  him  on  his  success.  The  play 
had  been  applauded  and  was  very  good.  They 
repeated  to  him  the  verdicts  of  other  spectators  and 
quieted  him.  Then  they  dragged  him  to  a  restaurant 
and  compelled  him  to  eat  and  drink.  "  That  will 
do  3'ou  good,  30U  old  death's-head  !  "  said  a  shop- 
assistant.  John  was  soon  pulled  doAvn  from  his 
imaginative  flight.  "  What  have  3'ou  got  to  be 
melancholy  for/'  he  was  asked,  "  Avhen  you  have 
had  a  play  acted  by  the  Theatre  Ro^^al  ?  "  He 
could  not  tell  them.  His  boldest  ambition  was 
fulfilled ;  but  it  was  probabl}^  not  what  he  wanted. 
The  thought  that  in  any  case  it  was  an  honour  did 
not  comfort  him. 

The  next  morning  he  went  into  a  shop,  and  bought 
the  morning  paper  and  read  a  criticism  to  the  effect 
that  the  piece  Avas  Avritten  in  choice  language,  and 
(since  it  was  anon3'mous)  probably  by  a  well- 
knoAvn  art-critic  Avho  had  moved  among  artistic 
circles  at  Rome.  That  wrs  pleasant  and  cheered 
his  spirits. 

At  noon  he  started  for  Upsala.  His  father  had 
engaged  a  room  for  him  in  a  boarding-house,  kept 
by  the  widoA\'  of  a  clergyman,  that  he  might  complete 
his  studies  under  proper  supervision. 


M 


CHAPTER   X 

TORN   TO   PIECES 

John's  entrance  into  the  boarding-house  secured 
for  him  intercourse  with  a  large  and  varied  circle, — 
perhaps  too  varied.  There  were  students  of  all  ages, 
of  all  subjects,  and  from  all  districts,  from  clergymen 
who  were  reading  for  their  last  examination  to  young 
medical  and  law  students.  There  were  also  ladies 
in  the  house,  and  John  Avas  for  the  eighth  time  in 
love.  Again  the  object  of  his  affections  was  un- 
attainable, being  engaged  to  another.  The  variety 
of  this  social  intercourse  overloaded  his  brain  with 
impressions  from  all  circles ;  his  personality  became 
relaxed  and  distracted  through  the  self-adaptation 
and  compromises  with  other  people's  views  which 
are  necessary  in  societ}-.  Besides  this  a  great  deal 
of  drinking  went  on  nearly  ever}^  evening.  On  one 
of  the  first  days  after  his  arrival  appeared  a  criticism 
of  his  pla}^  in  one  of  the  evening  papers.  It  was  very 
sharji  but  just,  and  therefore  hit  John  hard.  He  felt 
stripped  and  seen  through.  The  critic  said  that  the 
author  had  concealed  his  insignificant  personahty 
behind  a  great  name — Thorwaldsen — but  that  the 
disguise  did  not  avail  him  and  so  on.  John  felt 
altogether  bankrupt.  In  such  cases  one  tries  to 
defend  oneself,  and  he  compared  his  oaati  Avith  other 

162 


TORN  TO   PIECES  103 

bad  plays,  Avliich  the  same  severe  critic  had  praised. 
He  felt  treated  unjustly,  and  indeed  when  compared 
with  others  it  was  so,  but  not  when  he  was  regarded 
by  himself  alone.  The  fact  that  the  critic  M'as  AAorse 
did  not  make  his  jjiece  better. 

John  became  shy  and  averse  to  company.  This 
was  increased  by  the  students'  club  starting  a  paper 
in  A\hich  they  made  merr}"  over  him  and  his  play. 
He  fancied  he  saw  grimaces  and  contempt  every- 
where, and  went  preferably  by  back  streets  on  his 
walks. 

Then  there  came  a  yet  severer  blow.  A  friend 
had,  on  his  own  account,  published  one  of  John's 
first  plays, — the  Free-thinker.  Wliile  he  was 
spending  an  evening  with  Rejd  an  acquaintance 
brought  in  the  hated  evening  paper.  It  contained 
a  scathing  article  on  the  play,  which  was  mocked 
at  and  cut  to  pieces.  John  was  obliged  to  read  the 
article  in  the  presence  of  his  friends.  He  had, 
against  his  will,  to  admit  that  the  critic  was  not 
unjust,  but  it  upset  him  terribly. 

Why  is  it  so  hard  to  hear  the  truth  from  others, 
while  at  the  same  time  one  can  be  so  severe  against 
oneself  ?  Probably  because  the  social  masquerade 
in  which  we  all  take  part  makes  every  one  fear 
being  unmasked,  probably  also  because  responsi- 
bility and  unpleasantness  are  involved  in  it.  One 
feels  oneself  overreached  and  cheated.  The  critic 
who  sits  at  ease  and  unmasks  others  would  feel 
himself  equally  scourged  and  exposed  if  his  secrets 
were  betrayed.  Social  life  is  honeycombed  with 
falsity,  but  who  likes  to  be  discovered  ?     That  is 


164  THE   GROWTH  OF  A   SOUL 

why  at  tinics  of  solitude,  \\licn  the  past  rises  up  un- 
escapabl} ,  we  do  not  feel  remorse  for  our  faults, 
but  for  our  follies  and  necessary  cruelties.  Mis- 
takes were  necessary  and  had  some  use,  but  follies 
were  merely  injurious  and  should  have  been  avoided. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  men  pay  greater  honour  to 
intelligence  than  to  morality,  for  the  former  is  a 
reality,  the  latter  an  idea. 

Meanwhile  John  felt  the  same  pains  Avhich  he 
imagined  a  crimiral  must  feel.  He  felt  impelled 
to  obliterate  as  soon  as  possible  the  impression  made 
by  his  stupidity.  But  he  felt  also  that  a  kind  of 
injustice  had  been  done  him  since  he  had  been 
criticised  simply  and  solel}'  as  a  writer,  although  his 
production  was  a  year  old,  and  he  himself,  therefore, 
maturer  than  it,  b}^  a  year.  But  it  was  not  the  fault 
of  the  critic  that  there  was  an  incongruity  between 
the  criticism  and  the  corpus  delicti. 

He  began  to  compose  another  tragedy,  The 
Assistant  at  the  Sacrifice.  This  was  intended  to 
deal  with  Christendom  in  artistic  form,  and  to 
handle  the  same  problem  and  the  same  questions 
as  his  former  pla}'.  By  "  artistic  form  "  at  that 
period  was  meant  the  laying  of  the  scene  of  the  play 
in  a  past  epoch.  John  wrote  the  piece  under  the 
influence  of  Oehlenschläger  and  the  Icelandic  sagas 
which  he  had  latel}^  read  in  the  original. 

He  had,  however,  a  severe  struggle  with  his 
conscience,  for  his  father  had  exacted  a  promise 
from  him  not  to  write  for  the  stage  till  he  had 
passed  his  examination.  It  was,  therefore,  an  act 
of  deceit  to  take  help  from  his  father  and  not  to 


TORN   TO   PIECES  165 

fulfil  the  conditions  on  which  it  was  granted.  But 
he  silenced  his  scruples  by  saying  to  himself,  "  Father 
will  be  pleased  enough  if  I  have  a  speedy  and  great 
success."     In  that  he  was  not  far  wrong. 

But  another  element  now  entered  into  his  life, 
and  had  a  decided  influence  both  on  his  views  of 
things  and  his  work.  This  was  his  acquaintance 
with  two  men, — an  author  and  a  remarkable  person- 
ality. Unfortunately  they  were  both  abnormal  and 
therefore  had  only  a  disturbing  effect  upon  his 
development. 

The  author  was  Kierkegaard,^  whose  book,  Either 
— Or,  John  had  borrowed  from  a  member  of  the 
Song  Club,  and  read  with  fear  and  trembling.  His 
friends  had  also  read  it  as  a  work  of  genius,  had 
admired  the  stjde,  but  not  been  specially  influenced 
b}'  it, — a  proof  that  books  have  little  effect,  when 
they  do  not  find  readers  in  sympathj'^  wdth  the 
author.  But  upon  John  the  book  made  the  im- 
pression intended  b}'  the  author.  He  read  the  first 
part  containing  "  The  Confessions  of  an  ^Esthete." 
He  felt  sometimes  carried  away  by  it,  but  alwaj^s 
had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  as  though  present 
at  a  sick-bed.  The  perusal  of  the  first  part  left  a 
feeling  of  emptiness  and  despair  behind  it.  The 
book  agitated  him.  "  The  Diary  of  a  Seducer"  he 
regarded  as  the  fancies  of  an  unclean  imagination. 
Things  were  not  like  that  in  real  life.  Moreover 
John  was  no  sybarite,  but  on  the  contrary'  inclined 
to  asceticism  and  self -torment.  Such  egotistic 
sensuality  as  that  of  the  hero  of  Kierkegaard's  work 
^  Danish  theologian, 


166  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

was  absurd  because  the  suffering  he  caused  by  the 
satisfaction  of  his  desires  necessarily  involved  him 
in  suffering  and,  therefore,  defeated  his  object. 

The  second  part  of  the  work  containing  the  philo- 
sopher's "Discourse  on  Life  as  a  Duty,"  made  a 
deeper  impression  on  Jolm,  It  showed  him  that 
he  himself  was  an  "  aesthete  "  who  had  conceived 
of  authorship  as  a  form  of  enjoj^ment.  Kierke- 
gaard said  that  it  should  be  regarded  as  a  calling. 
Wh}'  ?  The  proof  was  wanting,  and  John,  who  did 
not  laiow  that  Kierkegaard  was  a  Christian,  but 
thought  the  contrary,  not  having  seen  his  Edifying 
Discourses,  imbibed  unaware  the  Christian  sj'stem 
of  ethics  with  its  doctrine  of  self-sacrifice  and  dut3\ 
Along  with  these  the  idea  of  sin  returned.  Enjo}'- 
ment  was  a  sin,  and  one  had  to  do  one's  dut3\ 
Why  ?  Was  it  for  the  sake  of  societ}^  to  which  one 
Avas  under  obligations  ?  No  !  merelj^  because  it 
was  duty.  That  was  simpl}-  Kant's  categorical 
imperative.  When  he  reached  the  end  of  the  work 
Either — Or  and  found  the  moral  philosopher  also 
in  despair,  and  that  all  this  teaching  about  duty 
had  onl}^  produced  a  Philistine,  he  felt  broken  in 
two.  "  Then,"  he  thought,  "  better  be  an  aesthete." 
But  one  cannot  be  an  aesthete  if  one  has  been  a 
Christian  for  five-sixths  of  one's  life,  and  one  cannot 
be  moral  without  Christ.  Thus  he  was  tossed  to 
and  fro  like  a  ball  between  the  two,  and  ended  in 
sheer  despair. 

Had  he  now  read  Kierkegaard's  discourses,  he 
might  possibly  have  come  a  step  nearer  to  Christi- 
anity— possibly — for  it   is  difficult   to  decide   that 


TORN  TO   PIECES  1C7 

now,  but  to  receive  Christianity  again  seemed  to 
him  Hke  replacing  a  tooth  Avhich  had  been  torn  out, 
and  joyfull}'  thrown  into  the  fire,  along  with  the 
accompanying  toothache.  It  was  also  possible  that 
if  he  had  liiiown  that  the  book  Either — Or  was  in- 
tended to  scourge  one  to  the  Cross  he  might  have 
thrown  it  awa}'  as  a  Jesuitical  writing  and  been 
saved  from  his  embarrassment.  All  that  he  felt 
now,  however,  was  a  terrible  discord.  He  had  to 
choose  and  make  the  jump  between  ethics  and 
aesthetics,  but  choose  how  ?  and  jump  whither  ? 
He  could  not  jump  out  in  space  to  embrace  a 
paradox  or  Christ, — that  would  have  been  self- 
destruction  or  madness.  But  Kierkegaard  preached 
madness  ?  Was  it  the  despair  of  the  over-self- 
conscious  at  finding  himself  always  self-conscious  ? 
Was  it  the  longing  of  one  who  sees  too  deeply  for  the 
unconsciousness  of  intoxication  ? 

John  knew  well  what  the  battle  between  his  o^vn 
will  and  the  will  of  others  meant.  He  had  given 
his  father  trouble  enough  when  he  crossed  his  plans ; 
but  the  trouble  was  mutual ;  the  whole  of  life  con- 
sisted of  a  w^eb  of  wills  crossing  one  another.  The 
death  of  one  was  life-breath  to  another ;  no  one 
could  gain  an  advantage  without  hurting  the  one 
he  passed  bj'.  Life  was  a  perpetual  interchange 
and  struggle  between  pleasure  and  pain.  His 
sensualit}^  or  desire  for  enjoyment  had  not  injured 
others  nor  caused  them  trouble.  He  had  never 
seduced  the  innocent,  and  had  never  enjoj'ed 
liimsclf  without  paying  the  price.  He  was  moral 
from  habit,  from  instinct,  from  fear  of  the  conse- 


168  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

quences,  from  good  taste  or  from  education,  but  the 
very  fact  that  he  did  not  feel  himself  immoral,  was 
a  defect  and  a  sin.  After  reading  Either — Or  he 
felt  sinful.  The  categorical  imperative  stole  on 
him  under  a  Latin  name  and  without  a  cross  on  its 
back,  and  he  let  himself  be  beguiled  b}-  it.  He  did 
not  see  that  it  was  a  two-thousand-years-old 
Christianity  in  disguise. 

Kierkegaard  \\'ould  not  have  made  so  deep  an 
impression  on  him,  if  a  number  of  concurrent  circum- 
stances had  not  contributed  to  that  result.  Li  the 
letters  of  the  aesthete,  Kierkegaard  expounded 
suffering  as  enjoyment.  John  suffered  from  public 
contumely ;  he  suffered  from  his  hard  work ;  he 
suffered  from  unrequited  affection  ;  he  suffered  from 
unsatisfied  desires ;  he  suffered  from  drink,  for  he 
was  intoxicated  nearly  every  evening ;  he  suffered 
as  an  artist  from  mental  struggles  and  doubts ;  he 
suffered  from  the  ugl}^  sceneri'  of  Upsala  ;  he  suffered 
from  the  discomfort  of  his  rooms ;  he  suffered  from 
examination-books  ;  he  suffered  from  a  bad  con- 
science because  he  did  not  stud}'  but  wrote  plays. 
But  something  else  lay  at  the  bottom  of  all  this. 
He  had  been  brought  up  to  fulfil  hard  tasks  and 
duties.  Now  he  lived  well  amid  ease  and  enjoy- 
ment. Study  was  an  enjoyment ;  authorship,  in 
spite  of  all  its  pains,  was  a  wonderful  cnjojanent ; 
the  life  with  his  comrades  was  sheer  festivity  and 
jollit}-.  But  his  plebeian  consciousness  awoke  and 
told  him  that  it  was  not  right  to  enjo}'  Avhile  others 
worked  ;  his  work  was  an  enjoyment,  for  it  brought 
him  a  good  deal  of  honour,  and  perhaps  money.    This 


TORN   TO   PIECES  109 

accounted  for  his  persistently  uneasy  conscience 
which  persecuted  him  without  a  cause.  Was  it 
that  he  felt  already'  the  signs  of  this  awakening 
consciousness  of  tremendous  guilt  as  regards  the 
lower  classes,  the  slaves  who  toiled,  while  he  en- 
joyed ?  Did  he  already  have  a  foreboding  of  that 
sense  of  justice,  which  in  our  daj^s  has  laid  so  strong 
a  hold  on  many  of  the  upper  classes  that  they  have 
restored  capital  which  was  not  quite  honestly 
earned,  have  expended  time  and  toil  for  the  libera- 
tion of  the  lower  classes,  and  have  worked  from 
impulse  and  instinct  against  their  own  interests,  in 
order  to  do  right  ?     Possibly. 

But  Kierkegaard  was  not  the  man  to  resolve  the 
discord.  It  was  reserved  for  the  evolutionary  philo- 
sophers to  make  peace  between  passion  and  reason, 
between  enjoyment  and  dut3\  They  cancelled  the 
deceptive  Either — Or,  and  substituted  Both — And, 
giving  both  flesh  and  spirit  their  due.  The  real 
significance  of  Kierkegaard  became  clear  to  John 
many  years  later.  Then  he  saw  in  him  the  simple 
pietist,  the  ultra-Christian  who  wished  to  realise 
in  modern  society'  oriental  ideals  of  two  thousand 
years  ago.  But  Kierkegaard  was  right  in  one 
point  :  if  we  were  to  have  Christianity,  we  ought 
to  have  it  thoroughly ;  but  his  Either — Or  was  onlj^ 
valid  for  the  priests  of  the  church  who  called  them- 
selves Christians. 

Kierkegaard  saw  no  further,  and  from  him  who 
wrote  liis  book  in  1843,  and  had  a  clerical  education, 
one  could  not  expect  that  he  should  ^ay  :  "  Either 
a  Christianity  like  this,  or  none  !  "     In  that  case 


170  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

people  would  probably  have  chosen  none.  Instead 
of  that  Kierkegaard  said  :  "  A'Miether  3^011  are 
sesthetical  or  ethical  j'ou  must  cast  yourself  into 
the  arms  of  Christ."  His  mistake  was  to  oppose 
ethics  and  aesthetics  to  each  other,  for  tliej^  can  go 
very  well  together.  But  John  did  not  succeed  in 
harmonising  them  till,  after  endless  struggles,  at 
the  age  of  thirt3'-seven,  he  attempted  a  compromise 
when  he  discovered  that  work  and  duty  are  forms  of 
enjoj'ment,  and  that  enjoyment  itself,  well-used,  is  a 
duty. 

But  at  that  time,  the  book  weighed  on  him  like  a 
nightmare.  He  was  angry  when  his  friends  wished 
to  regard  it  as  mere  literature.  He  was  not  pacified 
by  their  regarding  it  superior  in  richness,  depth  and 
stj^le  to  Goethe's  Faust,  Avhich  it  certainly  did 
surpass  by  far.  John  could  not  at  that  time  under- 
stand that  the  pillar-saint  Kierkegaard  had  himself 
known  what  enjoj-ment  was  when  he  wrote  the  first 
part,  and  that  the  seducer  and  Don  Juan  were 
the  author  himself,  who  satisfied  his  desires  in 
imagination.     No,  he  thought  it  was  poetry. 

John  had  been  already  predisposed  to  receive 
Kierkegaard's  influence,  and  now  came  the  other 
acquaintance,  which  would  not  have  played  a  great 
role  in  his  life  if  circumstances  had  not  prepared 
him  for  that  also.  His  companions  merely  regarded 
the  person  in  question  as  ludicrous. 

It  came  about  in  the  following  wa3\  Thurs  the 
Jew  came  one  day  and  told  John  that  he  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  genius  who  wished  to  join 
their  Song  Club, 


TORN   TO   PIECES  171 

"  x\li,  a  genius  !  " 

None  of  the  members  of  the  club  believed  that 
the}'  were  geniuses,  not  even  John,  and  it  is  doubtful 
whether  an}^  poet  has  reallj'  believed  or  felt  that  he 
was  one.  One  can,  when  one  makes  comparisons, 
find  that  one  has  produced  better  work  than  others, 
and  a  clever  man  will  naturally  feel  that  he  under- 
stands better  than  others,  but  genius, — that  is  some- 
thing else.  This  title  is  not  generally  bestowed  on 
any  one  till  after  death  and  is  now  dropping  out  of 
common  use,  since  the  secret  of  the  evolution  of 
genius  has  been  discovered. 

The  novelty  aroused  attention,  and  the  stranger 
was  elected  to  the  club  vuider  the  name  of  Is.  He 
was  not  a  poet,  they  were  told,  but  ver}'  learned  and 
a  powerful  critic. 

One  evening  when  the  club-meeting  was  at  Tliurs' 
rooms  he  came — a  little  thin  person,  without  an 
overcoat,  dressed  like  a  labourer  on  his  holiday.  His 
clothes  looked  as  though  the}^  were  borrowed,  for 
their  elbows  and  knees  were  not  in  the  right  places. 
John,  who  used  to  succeed  to  his  elder  brother's 
clothes,  noticed  this  at  once.  In  his  hand  he  held 
a  dirt}'  beer-soup-coloured  hat,  such  as  is  only  worn 
by  organ-grinders.  His  face  looked  like  that  of  a 
southern  rat-trap  seller.  His  black  hair  hung  on 
his  shoulders  and  a  black  beard  fell  on  his  breast. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  they  asked  themselves.  "  Can 
he  be  a  student  ?  "  He  looked  forty,  but  was  only 
thirty.  He  stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  at  the 
door  like  a  beggar,  and  hardly  ventured  to  come 
forward,     After   Thurs    had    drawn    him    into    the 


172  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

room  and  introduced  him,  the  meeting  was  declared 
open.  Is  began  to  speak  and  thej^  listened.  His 
voice  was  like  a  woman's  and  sank  sometimes, 
^vithout  apology,  to  a  whisper,  as  though  the  speaker 
demanded  perfect  silence  or  spoke  for  his  owti 
satisfaction.  It  would  be  difficult  to  repeat  what 
he  spoke  of,  for  his  speech  ranged  over  everj^thing 
that  he  had  read,  and  since  he  had  read  for  ten 
years  more  than  the  youths  of  twenty,  the}'  found 
his  learning  wonderful. 

After  that,  another  member  of  the  club  read  a 
poem.  Is  had  to  deliver  an  opinion  on  it.  He 
began  with  Kant,  quoted  Schopenhauer  and 
Thackeray,  and  fuiished  with  a  lecture  on  George 
Sand.  No  one  noticed  that  he  said  nothing  about 
the  poem. 

Then  they  went  into  a  restaurant  to  eat.  Is 
talked  philosophy,  sesthetics  and  historj'.  He 
spoke  sometimes  with  a  melanchoty  expression  in 
his  dark  unfathomable  eyes,  which  never  rested  on 
those  present,  as  though  he  sought  an  unseen 
audience  far  in  the  distance,  in  unknoAm  space. 
The  club  listened  reverently'  with  absorbed  attention. 

John  was  to  hear  this  man's  opinion  on  his  work. 
He,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  poetical  members  of 
the  club,  began  to  have  serious  doubts  as  to  their 
vocation.  Often,  when  they  had  drunk  a  good 
deal,  the}'  asked  whether  they  still  believed — mean- 
ing whether  each  thought  the  other  called  to  be  a 
poet.  It  was  just  the  same  sort  of  doubt  which 
John  had  felt  Mhen  he  had  Avondered  whether  he 
was  a  child  of  God.     Is  was  to  read  John's  drama, 


TORN   TO   PIECES  173 

The  Assistant  at  the  Sacrifice,  and  to  give  his 
opinion. 

One  morning  John  went  up  to  his  room  to  hear 
his  verdict.  Is  spoke  till  noon.  About  what  ? 
About  everything.  But  he  had  noA\'  taken  hold  of 
John's  soul.  Through  conversations  with  Thurs, 
he  knew  which  strings  to  pull,  and  did  so,  as  he 
chose.  He  burrowed  in  John's  mind,  not  out  of 
sympath}',  but  from  a  spider-like  curiosity.  He 
did  not  speak  dirccth'  of  John's  play  but  suggested 
the  plan  of  a  new  one  after  his  own  ideas.  He  had 
the  effect  of  a  mesmeriser,  and  John  was  magnetised. 
But  he  felt  in  a  state  of  despair  Avhen  he  left  him,  as 
though  his  friend  had  taken  his  soul,  picked  it  to 
pieces  and  thrown  them  away  after  he  had  satisfied 
his  curiosit3\ 

But  John  came  again,  sat  on  the  wise  mans  sofa, 
listened  to  his  words  as  though  they  were  an  oracle, 
and  felt  himself  completely  under  his  power.  Some- 
times he  thought  it  was  a  ghost  who  walked  on  the 
carpet  when  his  body  disappeartl  in  clouds  of 
tobacco-smoke.  The  man  exercised  what  is  called 
a  "  demonic  "  influence,  i.  e.  inexplicable  at  first 
sight.  He  had  no  blood  in  his  veins,  no  feelings, 
no  will,  no  desires.  He  was  a  talking  head.  His 
standpoint  was  nothing  and  all  at  the  same  time. 
He  was  a  decoction  of  books,  and  the  t3^pe  of  a  book- 
worm who  had  never  lived. 

Often  when  the  other  members  of  the  club  were 
alone,  they  talked  about  Is.  Thurs  was  already 
tired  of  him  and  wondered  Avhether  he  had  com- 
mitted some  crime,  for  he  seemed  driven  about  by  a 


174  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

constant  restlessness.  Then  it  was  reported  that 
he  was  a  poet,  but  never  would  show  his  poems, 
for  he  had  such  a  high  idea  of  the  poetic  art.  They 
also  A\  ondered  why  no  one  ever  saw  a  book  in  the 
learned  man's  rooms.  It  was  also  strange  that  he 
should  seek  the  company  of  these  youths,  to  whom 
he  was  so  superior,  and  whose  poetr}^  he  must  de- 
spise. They  who  were  themselves  in  the  full  bloom 
of  romanticism  did  not  detect  the  ansemic  romantic 
who  had  lost  his  footing  on  firm  ground.  They  did 
not  see  in  his  long  hair  and  shabby  hat  the  cop}'  of 
Murger's  Bohemian ;  they  did  not  know  that  this 
dilapidated  condition  was  a  Parisian  fashion ;  that 
this  holloAv  wisdom  was  a  Aveb  woven  out  of  German 
metaphysics  ;  that  this  experimental  psychology  was 
derived  from  a  peep  into  Kierkegaard ;  and  that 
that  interesting  air  of  hinting  at  uncommitted  crimes 
and  secret  griefs  was  B3Tonic  in  origin.  All  this 
they  did  not  understand.  Therefore  Is  could  play 
with  John's  soul  and  catch  him  in  his  snare.  Yes, 
John  was  so  thoroughly  taken  by  him  that  in  a 
speech  he  called  himself  Gamaliel,  who  sat  at  Paul's 
Is's)  feet  to  learn  wisdom. 

The  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  John,  one  fuie  evening, 
burnt  his  new  play.  It  was  the  work  of  three  months 
which  Mcnt  up  in  flames.  As  he  collected  the  ashes, 
he  wept.  Is,  without  saying  so  directly,  had  shown 
him  that  he  was  no  poet.  So  everything  was  a  mis- 
take, this  also  !  Then  he  felt  in  despair,  because  he 
had  deceived  his  father  and  could  take  no  work 
home  to  justify  his  neglect  of  his  wishes.  In  a  fit 
of  remorse,  and  in  order  to  be  able  to  point  to  some 


TORN  TO   PIECES  175 

definite  result,  he  entered  his  name  for  t  lie  written 
examination  in  Latin,  without,  however,  having 
written  an}-  of  the  requisite  preliminary  exercises 
or  essay's.  The  Latin  professor  saw  his  name  in 
the  list  and  did  not  know  it.  One  Sunday  evening, 
when  John  had  returned  to  his  rooms  in  good  spirits 
after  a  supper,  the  university  bedell  appeared  to 
summon  him.  John  went  boldly  to  the  professor 
and  asked  what  he  Avanted. 

"  You  wish  to  take  the  written  examination  in 
Latin  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  I  do  not  see  your  name  on  my  list." 

"  I  entered  myself  before  for  the  medical  examina- 
tion." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  this.  You  must  go 
by  the  rules." 

"  I  know  no  rules  about  the  three  essa^-s." 

"  I  think  you  are  impertinent,  sir." 

"  It  may  seem  so " 

"  Out  with  you,  sir  ! — or " 


The  door  was  opened,  and  John  was  ejected.  He 
swore  to  himself  he  Avould  still  go  up  for  the  written 
examination,  but  the  next  morning  he  overslept 
himself. 

So  even  that  last  straw  failed. 

Shortly  afterwards  one  morning  a  friend  came  and 
woke  him. 

"  Do  you  know  that  W.  is  dead  ?  "  (W.  sat  at 
the  same  table  in  the  boarding-house.) 

"  No  !  " 

"  Yes  !   he  has  cut  his  throat." 


176  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

Jolin  started  up,  dressed  himself,  and  hurried 
with  his  friend  to  the  Jernbrogatan  where  W.  Uved. 
They  rushed  up  tlie  stairs  and  came  to  a  dark 
attic. 

"  Is  it  here  ?  " 

"  No,  here  !  " 

Jolm  fek  for  a  door ;  the  door  gave  way  and  fell 
upon  him.  At  the  same  moment  he  saw  a  pool  of 
blood  on  the  ground.  He  turned  round,  let  go  of 
the  door,  and  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  before 
the  door  fell  on  the  ground.  This  scene  shook  him 
terribly  and  woke  his  memory.  Some  days  pre- 
viously John  had  gone  into  the  Carolina  Park  to 
work  at  his  play  in  solitude.  W.  came  up,  greeted 
him,  and  asked  whether  he  might  bear  him 
compan}^  or  whether  he  disturbed  him.  Jolm 
answered  sincerel}''  that  he  did  disturb  him,  and 
W.  went  away  with  a  melancholy  air.  Was  it  a 
case  of  a  loneh^  drowning  man  who  sought  a  com- 
panion and  Mas  repulsed  ?  John  felt  almost  guilty 
of  his  death.  But  he  was  not  intended  for  a  com- 
forter. Now  the  dead  man  seemed  to  haunt  liim  ; 
he  dared  not  go  to  his  room,  but  slept  with  his  friend. 
One  night  he  slept  with  Rejd.  The  latter  had  to 
keep  a  light  burning  and  was  woken  several  times 
in  the  night  by  John,  who  could  not  sleep. 

One  day  Rejd  found  John  with  a  bottle  of  prussic 
acid.  He  apparentl}^  approved  the  idea  of  suicide, 
but  first  asked  him  to  take  a  farewell  drink  with 
him.  They  went  to  the  restaurant  and  ordered 
eight  glasses  of  whisk}^  which  were  brought  in  on 
a  tray.     Each  of  them  drank  four  glasses  in  four 


TORN   TO   PIECES  177 

pulls,  with  the  desired  result  that  John  became 
dead  drunk.  He  was  carried  home,  but  since  the 
house  door  was  locked,  he  was  carried  over  an 
empty  piece  of  ground  and  thrown  over  a  fence. 
There  he  remained  lying  in  a  snow-drift,  till  he 
recovered  his  senses,  and  crept  up  into  his  room. 

The  last  night  which  he  spent  in  Upsala  some 
days  later  he  slept  on  a  sofa  in  Thurs'  rooms ;  his 
friends  kept  watch  over  him,  and  the  room  was 
lighted  up.  They  watched  good-naturedly  till 
morning,  then  they  accompanied  him  to  the  station, 
and  put  him  in  the  coupe.  When  the  train  had 
passed  Bergsbrunna,  Jolm  breathed  again.  He  felt 
as  though  he  had  left  something  dreadful  and  weird, 
like  a  northern  winter  night  with  thirty  degrees  of 
cold,  behind  him,  and  registered  a  vow  never  again 
to  settle  in  this  town,  where  men's  souls,  banished 
from  life  and  society,  grew  rotten  from  over-pro- 
duction of  thought,  were  corroded  by  stagnant  waters 
which  had  no  outlet,  and  took  fire  like  millstones 
which  revolved  without  having  anything  to  grind. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IDEALISM   AND   REALISM 

(1871) 

When  John  again  reached  his  parents'  house,  he 
felt  himself  in  shelter  like  one  who  has  reached 
land  after  a  stormy  sea-passage  by  night.  Again 
he  had  quiet  nights  in  his  old  tent-bed  in  the  brothers' 
room.  Here  were  quiet  patient  men,  who  came  and 
went,  worked  and  slept  at  stated  times  without  being 
disturbed  by  dreams  or  ambitious  designs.  His 
sisters  had  gro\vTi  up  into  young  women  and  managed 
the  house.  All  were  at  work  with  the  exception  of 
himself.  When  he  compared  his  irregular,  dissi- 
pated life,  which  knew  no  rest  or  peace,  with  theirs, 
he  considered  them  happier  and  better  than  himself. 
They  took  Hfc  seriously,  went  about  their  work  and 
fulfilled  their  duties  without  noise  or  boasting. 

John  now  looked  up  his  old  acquaintances  among 
the  tradespeople,  clerks,  and  sea-captains,  and  found 
intercourse  with  them  novel  and  refreshing.  They 
led  his  thoughts  back  to  reality  and  he  felt  firm 
ground  once  more  under  his  feet.  At  the  same  time 
he  began  to  despise  false  ideality,  and  saw  that  it 
was  vulgar  of  the  students  to  look  down  on  the 
"  Philistines." 

He  now  confessed  quite  simply  and  openly  to  his 

178 


IDEALISM  AND   REALISM  179 

father,  but  without  remorse,  the  wretched  life  he 
had  led  at  Upsala,  and  begged  him  to  let  him  stay 
at  home  and  prepare  for  his  examination  there, — 
otherwise  he  would  be  lost.  His  father  granted 
permission,  and  now  John  prepared  his  plan  of 
campaign  for  the  spring  term.  In  the  first  place 
he  meant  to  take  lessons  in  Latin  composition  with 
a  good  teacher  in  Stockholm,  and  then  go  up  in 
spring,  and  pass  the  examination.  Furthermore  he 
would  write  his  disquisition  for  a  certificate  in 
aesthetics  and  prepare  for  the  examination  in  that 
subject.  With  these  resolutions  he  began  a  quiet 
and  industrious  manner  of  life  with  the  new  year. 

But  the  failure  of  his  play  the  Free-thinker 
still  weighed  upon  his  mind,  and  the  questions  of 
his  friends  as  to  whether  they  should  soon  see  some- 
thing new  from  him,  stirred  him  up  to  re-write,  in 
the  form  of  a  one-act  plaj^the  drama  he  had  burnt. 
He  fmished  it,  and  then  continued  his  studies. 

Shortly  before  April  he  wrote  a  test-composition 
for  his  teacher,  who  declared  that  he  would  pass. 
His  father  did  not  disapprove  of  his  plan  when 
he  heard  that  John  felt  quite  confident,  but  he 
suggested  that  it  would  be  more  practical  if  he 
conformed  to  custom  and  wrote  exercises  for  the 
Upsala  professor.  "  No,"  said  John,  "  it  was  now 
a  question  of  principle  and  a  matter  of  honour." 
So  he  went  to  Upsala. 

He  called  on  the  professor  on  his  at-home  day 
and  waited  till  his  turn  for  an  interview.  When 
the  latter  saw  him,  he  grew  red  in  the  face  and 
asked  : 


180  THE   GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

"  Are  you  here  again  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  Avant  to  go  in  for  the  Latin  Composition 
examination." 

"  Without  having  written  a  test-composition  ?  " 

"  I  have  done  that  in  Stockhohn — and  I  only  want 
to  ask  w^hether  the  statutes  allow  me  to  go  up  for 
the  examination." 

"  The  statutes  ?  Ask  the  dean  about  that ;  I 
only  know  what  I  require." 

John  went  straight  to  the  dean,  who  was  a  young, 
lively  and  sympathetic  man,  John  made  lmo\vn 
his  purpose  and  described  what  had  passed. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  dean,  "the  statutes  say  nothing 
about  the  matter,  but  old  P.  can  pluck  j'ou  without 
their  help." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see.  Will  you  allow  me,  Mr. 
Dean,  to  go  up  for  the  written  examination,  that  is 
the  question  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  can't  refuse  that.  You  mean  then  to 
have  3'our  own  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Are  you  so  sure  about  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well !  Good  luck  to  j^ou  !  "  said  the  Dean, 
and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

So  John  went  up  for  the  examination  and  after  a 
week  received  a  telegram  to  sa}'  that  he  had  passed. 
Some  ascribed  this  result  to  the  professor's  generosity 
and  disapproved  of  John's  rebellious  procedure  ;  but 
John  considered  his  success  due  to  his  OA\n  diligence 


IDEALISM  AND   REALISM  181 

and  knowledge,  although  he  could  not  deny  that  the 
professor  had  acted  honourably  in  not  plucking  him 
when  he  had  the  power  to  do  so. 

The  examination  in  aesthetics  was  fixed  for  May. 
Contrary  to  all  usage  John  sent  his  disquisition  by 
post  to  Upsala  with  the  written  request  that  he 
might  stand  for  the  examination. 

His  essay  was  entitled  "  Hakon  Jarl,"  and  treated 
of  Ideahsm  and  Reahsm.  Its  object  was  firstlj^  to 
convince  the  professor  that  the  writer  was  well- 
read  in  resthetics  and  particularly  in  Danish  litera- 
ture, and  secondly,  to  clear  up  to  the  writer  himself 
his  own  point  of  view.  The  essay,  in  imitation  of 
Kierkegaard,  was  in  the  form  of  a  correspondence 
between  A  and  B,  criticising  Oehlenschlager's 
Hakon  Jarl  and  Kierkegaard's  Either — Or. 

At  the  appointed  time  Jolm  appeared  before  the 
professor,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  liberal- 
minded,  but  felt  at  once  that  he  had  no  sympathy 
with  him.  With  an  almost  contemptuous  air  the 
professor  handed  him  back  his  essay  and  declared 
that  it  was  best  suited  for  the  female  readers  of  the 
Illustrated  News.  He  further  stated  that  Danish 
literature  was  not  a  subject  of  sufficient  importance 
to  be  taken  up  as  a  special  branch  of  study. 

John  felt  annoyed,  and  asserted  that  Danish 
literature  had  greater  interest  for  Sweden  than 
Boileau  and  Malesherbes,  for  example,  on  whom 
students  wrote  essays. 

His  examination  then  began  and  took  the  form 
of  a  violent  argument.  It  was  continued  in  the 
afternoon  and  ended  by  the  professor  giving  him 


182  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

a  certificate  which  was  not  so  good  as  he  had  hoped, 
and  teUing  him  that  universit}^  studies  could  only 
be  properly  carried  on  at  the  universit3^  John 
replied  that  aesthetic  studies  could  be  best  carried 
on  at  Stockholm  where  one  had  the  National  Museum, 
Library,  Theatre,  Academy  of  Music  and  Artists. 

"  No,"  said  the  professor,  "  that  is  nonsense  ;  one 
ought  to  stud}'  here." 

John  let  fall  some  remarks  on  college  lectures,  and 
they  parted,  not  as  particularly  good  friends. 


CHAPTER   XII 

A  king's  protegee 
(1871) 

During  the  whole  of  this  time,  John  had  been 
on  pleasant  terms  with  his  father,  and  the  old  man 
had  sho^v^l  himself  to  a  certain  extent  willing  to 
be  educated,  but  his  tactless  pride  sometimes  broke 
out  and  annoyed  John.  The  latter,  who  was  now 
continually  at  home,  spent  many  evening  hours 
with  the  old  man  in  conversations  on  all  sorts  of 
subjects,  and  finally  on  religion.  One  day  John 
spoke  for  half-an-hour  about  Theodore  Parker,  so 
that  his  father  at  last  expressed  a  wish  to  read  some 
of  him.  He  kept  the  book  for  several  days,  but  said 
nothing,  and  John  found  it  again  in  his  room.  His 
father  was  too  proud  to  acknowledge  that  he  liked 
the  book,  but  John  learned  through  one  of  his 
brothers  that  he  was  especially  delighted  with  the 
famous  sermon  "  On  Old  Age." 

In  the  matter  of  John's  opposition  to  the  pro- 
fessor, his  father  vacillated.  His  opinion  was  that 
right  was  alwaj^s  right,  but  he  did  not  like  the  dis- 
respectful way  in  which  John  spoke  of  the  professor. 
Meanwhile  Jolm  saw  that  he  had  won  the  game  and 
that  his  father  had  a  lively  interest  in  his  success. 

But  one  day  in  spring  Jolm  went  into  the  country, 
183 


184  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

telling  the  servant  that  he  would  be  absent  for  the 
da}'.  When  he  returned  the  next  morning  he  had 
an  unpleasant  reception. 

"  You  go  aAvay  without  telling  me  ?  " 

"  I  told  the  servant." 

"  I  require  j^ou  to  ask  permission  of  me  as  long  as 
j^ou  eat  my  bread." 

"  Ask  permission  !     \^^iat  nonsense  !  " 

John  departed,  borrowed  three  hundred  kronas 
from  a  friendly  tradesman,  and  then  with  three  of 
his  club  associates  went  to  one  of  the  islands  near 
Stockliolm,  A\'liere  tliej^  hired  rooms  in  a  fisher's 
house  at  a  rent  of  thirty  kronas  per  month.  No  one 
tried  to  stop  him,  and  probably"  this  crisis  was 
occasioned  b}'  the  fact  that  John  w^as  exercising  a 
perceptible  influence  on  his  father,  brotjliers  and 
sisters  in  matters  concerning  domestic  arrangements. 
The  mistress  of  the  house  feared  that  the  power 
would  be  taken  out  of  her  hands. 

He  spent  the  summer  in  strenuously  working  for 
his  examination,  for  he  had  now  no  hope  of  receiving 
further  supplies  from  home.  It  was  a  health}^  and 
ascetic  life  with  innocent  amusements.  He  went 
about  in  dressing-gown,  drawers  and  sea-boots,  and 
the  toilette  of  his  companions  was  still  more  scanty. 
They  bathed,  sailed,  fenced,  and  John  gave  himself 
over  increasingly  to  a  process  of  decivilisation. 
There  were  almost  always  spirituous  liquors  on  the 
table,  and  John  feared  them,  for  they  made  him 
mad.  But  to  this  asceticism  and  industry  suc- 
ceeded a  desire  to  make  converts  of  others,  and  a 
great    amount   of   self-satisfaction.     The    latter   is 


A  KING'S  PROTEGE  185 

always?  the  case,  whether  the  ascetic  feels  that  in 
this  respect  he  is  better  than  others,  or  whether 
he  makes  the  sacrifice  in  order  to  feel  himself  better. 
Therefore  he  preached  to  one  brother  who  drank, 
and  moralised  over  the  others  who  did  not  work, 
but  went  to  Dalarö  to  dance  or  to  feast.  Kierke- 
gaard's influence  was  strong  upon  him ;  he  wished 
to  be  moral,  and  thundered  against  sestheticism. 

He  now  studied  philology,  and  went  through 
Dante,  Shakespeare  and  Goethe.  The  last  he 
hated  because  he  was  an  aesthete.  Behind  all,  like 
a  dark  background,  was  the  breach  with  his  father. 
After  their  life  together  during  the  last  winter,  he  saw 
him  as  it  were  transfigured,  justified  him  with  respect 
to  all  that  had  happened  in  the  past,  and  had  for- 
gotten all  the  petty  troubles  of  his  childhood.  He 
missed  most  of  all  his  brothers  and  sisters,  especiall}^ 
his  sisters  whom  he  had  really  learnt  to  know. 
Toiling  Avith  a  lexicon  and  investigating  roots  of 
words  had  become  painful  to  him,  but  he  enjoyed 
this  pain,  and  disciplined  his  imagination  by  hard 
work,  looking  upon  it  as  his  professional  duty. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  summer  he  Avas  wild  and 
shy.  The  clothes,  which  he  rummaged  out  again, 
were  too  tight,  his  collar,  which  he  had  not  worn 
for  months,  tormented  him  as  though  it  had  been 
of  iron,  and  his  shoes  pinched  him.  Everj^thing 
seemed  to  him  constrained,  conventional  and  un- 
natural. Once  he  had  been  enticed  to  an  evening 
party  at  Dalarö  but  had  immediately  returned.  He 
was  shy  and  could  not  bear  frivolity  and  laughter. 
This  time  it  was  not  the  consciousness  of  belonging 


186  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

to  the  lower  classes,  for  he  had  ceased  to  regard 
himself  as  one  of  them.  Meanwhile  the  ascetic  life 
he  had  been  leading  increased  his  will-power  and 
his  activity.  When  the  next  term  at  Upsala  com- 
menced, he  took  his  travelling-bag  and  journeyed 
thither,  without  having  more  than  a  krona  to  call 
his  own,  and  without  knowing  where  he  would  fuid 
a  room  and  something  to  eat.  On  his  arrival  he 
took  up  his  quarters  with  Rejd,  and  set  about  work- 
ing. The  first  evening,  feeling  half  famished,  he 
looked  up  Is,  who  had  remained  the  whole  summer 
alone  in  Upsala  and  seemed  more  melancholy'  than 
usual.  His  appearance  was  that  of  a  shadow,  and 
solitude  had  made  him  still  more  morbid.  He  went 
out  with  John  and  invited  him  to  supper  at  a  restaur- 
ant. He  spoke  in  his  usual  stj'le  and  mangled  his 
prey,  who,  on  the  other  hand,  defended  himself, 
struck  back,  and  attacked  the  aesthete.  Is  con- 
templated his  hungry  companion  while  he  ate,  and 
intoxicated  himself  with  the  brandj^-bottle.  He 
adopted  a  maternal  air  and  offered  to  lend  John 
mone3\  The  latter  was  touched,  thanked  him,  and 
borrowed  about  ten  kronas,  for,  since  he  believed  he 
had  a  future  before  him,  he  borrowed  without  fear. 
Finally  Is  became  drunk  and  raved.  He  changed 
his  attitude,  called  Jolm  an  egoist,  and  reproached 
him  for  having  taken  the  ten  kronas. 

To  be  suspected  of  egotism  was  the  worst  thing 
John  knew,  for  Christ  had  taught  him  that  the  "ego  " 
must  be  crucified.  His  individuality  had  grown 
since  it  had  been  freed  from  pressure  and  attained 
])ublicity.     Conspicuous   persons   obtain   a   greater 


A   KINGS   PROTEGÉ  187 

individuality  through  the  attention  they  receive, 
or  they  attract  attention  for  the  simple  reason 
that  the}^  have  a  greater  individuality.  John  felt 
that  he  was  working  in  the  right  way  for  his  future  ; 
he  pressed  forward  with  energj^  and  will  and  the 
help  of  many  friends,  but  not  as  a  charlatan  or 
schemer.  But  Is's  accusation  struck  him  in  the 
face,  as  it  must  all  men  who  have  an  "  ego."  He 
wished  to  return  the  money,  but  Is  drew  himself 
up  proudl}^  plaj'ed  the  "  gentleman  "  and  con- 
tinued to  romance.  It  struck  John  that  this 
idealist  was  a  mean  fellow  who  behaved  in  this 
fantastic  way  in  order  to  conceal  his  vexation  at 
the  temporary  loss  of  the  ten  kronas. 

Now  the  students  returned  for  the  term,  and  all 
of  them  with  money.  John  wandered  about  with 
his  travelling-bag  and  his  books,  and  discovered 
how  soon  a  welcome  is  worn  out  when  one  lies  upon 
somebod}^  else's  sofa.  He  borrowed  money  to  hire 
a  room  with.  It  was  a  real  rats'  nest  with  a  camp- 
bed  without  sheets  or  cushions.  No  candlestick, 
nothing.  But  he  lay  in  bed  in  his  under-clothes  and 
read  by  the  light  of  a  candle  stuck  in  a  bottle.  His 
friends  here  and  there  provided  him  with  meals. 
But  then  came  the  winter.  He  used  to  go  out  after 
dark  and  buy  a  quantity  of  wood,  which  he  carried 
home  in  his  bag.  A  scientific  friend  taught  him 
how  to  make  a  charcoal  fire.  Moreover,  the  shaft 
of  a  chimney  passed  through  his  room  and  was 
warm  every  washing-day.  He  stood  beside  it  with 
his  hands  behind  him  and  read  out  of  a  book  which 
he  had  placed  on  the  chest  of  drawers,  dragging  the 


188  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

latter  close  to  him.  Li  the  meantime  his  drama  had 
been  pla3'ed  and  coldly  received.  The  subject- 
matter  was  religious.  It  dealt  with,  heathendom 
and  Christendom,  the  former  being  defended  as  an 
epoch-making  movement,  not  as  a  creed.  Christ 
Avas  placed  on  one  side  and  the  only  true  God 
exalted.  The  drama  also  contained  a  domestic 
struggle,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  the  time,  women 
Ave  re  extolled  at  the  expense  of  the  men.  In  one 
passage  the  autlior  expressed  his  opinion  as  to  the 
position  of  a  poet  in  life.  "  Are  you  a  man,  Orm  ?  " 
asks  tlie  duke.  "  I  am  onl}^  a  poet,"  answers  Orm. 
"  Therefore  you  will  never  become  anything,"  is  the 
rejoinder. 

In  fact,  John  believed  now  that  the  poet's  life  was 
a  shadow  existence,  that  he  had  no  individuality', 
but  onl}'  lived  in  that  of  others.  But  is  it  then  so 
certain  that  the  poet  possesses  no  individuality 
because  he  has  more  than  one  ?  Perhaps  he  is 
richer  because  he  possesses  more  than  the  others. 
And  wh}^  is  it  better  to  have  only  one  "  ego,"  since 
in  anj'  case  a  single  "ego  "  is  not  more  one's  ovm 
than  many  "  egos,"  seeing  that  even  one  "ego  "  is 
a  compound  product  derived  from  parents,  edu- 
cators, social  intercourse  and  books  ?  Perhaps  it  is 
for  this  reason  that  society-,  like  a  machine,  demands 
that  the  single  "  egos  "  shall  act  each  like  a  wheel, 
screw,  or  separate  piece  of  the  machine  in  a  limited 
automatic  way.  But  the  poet  is  more  than  a  piece 
of  a  machine,  since  he  is  a  whole  machine  in  himself. 

Ill  the  drama  John  had  incorporated  himself  in 
five  persons ; — in  the  Jarl,  who  is  at  war  with  his 


A   KING'S   PROTEGÉ  189 

contemporaries ;  in  the  Poet,  who  looks  over  things 
and  looks  through  them  ;  in  the  Mother,  who  is  angry 
and  revengeful  but  whose  thirst  for  vengeance  is 
counteracted  by  her  s^^mpathy  ;  in  the  Daughter,  who 
for  the  sake  of  her  faith  breaks  Avith  her  father ; 
in  the  Lover,  whose  love  is  ill-starred.  John  under- 
stood the  motives  of  all  the  dramatis  personse ; 
and  spoke  from  their  varying  points  of  view. 
But  a  drama  written  for  the  average  man  who  has 
ready-made  views  on  all  subjects,  must  at  least 
take  sides  with  one  of  its  characters  in  order  to  win 
the  excitable  and  partisan  public.  John  could  not 
do  this,  because  he  believed  in  no  absolute  right  or 
wrong,  for  the  simple  reason  that  all  these  ideas 
are  relative.  One  may_  be  right  as  regards  the 
future,  and  wrong  as  regards  the  present ;  one  may 
be  AM'ong  in  one  year  and  right  in  the  next ;  a  father 
may  justify  his  son  while  the  mother  condemns 
him  ;  a  daughter  is  right  in  loving  the  man  she  loves, 
but  in  her  father's  view  she  is  wrong  in  loving  a 
heathen.  There  comes  in  doubt  :  Why  do  men 
hate  and  despise  the  doubter  ?  Because  doubt  is 
the  seed  of  development  and  progress,  and  the 
average  man  hates  development  because  it  disturbs 
his  quiet.  Only  the  stupid  man  is  certain ;  only 
the  ignorant  one  thinks  he  has  found  the  truth. 
Doubt  undermines  energy,  they  say.  But  it  is 
better  to  act  without  considering  the  consequences. 
The  animal  and  the  savage  act  blindl}^  obeying 
desire  and  impulse ;  in  that  they  resemble  our 
"  men  of  action  "  ! 
When   John   returned  to  Upsala,   he  was  again 


190  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

followed  by  disparaging  criticisms.  To  some  ex- 
tent they  were  true,  e.  g.  the  assertion  that  the  form 
of  the  piece  was  borrowed  from  the  Kongsemncrne, 
but  only  to  some  extent,  for  Jolin  had  taken  the  frigid 
tone  and  the  rough  phraseology  direct  from  the 
Icelandic  sagas,  and  the  views  of  life  he  expressed 
were  original.  Scorn  followed  him,  and  he  was 
regarded  as  a  man  who  was  ambitious  of  being  a 
poet,  the  worst  suspicion  under  which  any  one  can 
fall. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  toil  and  needy  circum- 
stances, a  week  after  his  overthrow,  there  came  a 
letter  from  the  chamberlain  of  the  Theatre  Royal 
at  Stockholm,  requesting  him  to  go  there  immedi- 
atel}^  as  the  king  wished  to  see  him.  Morbidlj' 
suspicious  he  believed  that  it  was  a  practical  joke, 
and  took  the  letter  to  his  wise  friend — the  student 
of  Natural  Histor}-.  The  latter  telegraphed  in  the 
evening  to  a  well-knoAMi  actor  of  the  Theatre  Royal 
requesting  him  to  ask  the  chamberlain  whether  he 
had  A\Titten  to  John.  The  latter  spent  a  restless 
night,  tossed  to  and  fro  betAvccn  hope  and  fear.  The 
next  morning  the  answer  came  that  it  was  indeed 
so  and  that  John  should  come  at  once.  He  set  ofiE 
forthwith. 

Why  did  he,  a  born  rebel,  accept  the  royal  favour 
without  hesitation  ?  For  the  simple  reason  that 
he  did  not  belong  to  the  democratic  part}^ ;  he  had 
never  promised  his  father  or  mother  not  to  receive 
a  favour  from  the  king.  Furthermore  he  believed 
in  the  aristocracy  or  the  right  of  the  best  to  govern, 
and  he  considered  the  uf»per  classes  the  best,  as  he 


A  KING'S   PROTEGE  191 

had  shown  in  his  tragedy,  Sinking  Hellas,  in  which 
he  expressed  contempt  for  the  demagogues.  He 
hated  tyrants,  but  this  king  was  no  tyrant.  There- 
fore there  was  no  reason  for  hesitation  within  him 
or  without  him.  Accordingly  he  travelled  to  Stock- 
holm and  was  received  in  audience  by  the  king. 
The  latter  was  just  now  very  ill,  and  looked  so 
emaciated  as  to  make  a  painful  impression.  He 
stood  with  a  benevolent  aspect,  smoking  his  long 
tobacco-pipe,  and  smiled  at  the  3^oung  beardless 
author,  walking  awkwardly  between  the  rows  of 
aide-de-camps  and  chamberlains.  He  thanked  him 
for  the  pleasure  which  he  had  derived  from  his 
drama,  adding  that  he  himself  when  young  had 
competed  for  an  academical  prize  with  a  poem  on 
the  Vikings,  and  was  fond  of  the  old  Norse  legends. 
He  said  that  he  wished  to  help  the  3'oung  student 
to  take  his  doctor's  degree,  and  closed  the  interview 
by  referring  him  to  the  treasurer,  who  had  been 
ordered  to  make  him  a  first  payment.  Later  on 
he  would  receive  more,  and  the  king  said  he  supposed 
there  were  still  two  or  three  years  to  elapse  before 
he  took  his  degree. 

John's  immediate  future  was  now  secure.  He 
felt  gratefull}^  moved  by  this  kindness  on  the  part 
of  a  king  who  had  so  many  things  to  think  about. 
On  his  return  to  Upsala,  he  saw  for  two  months  how 
the  court  sunshine  had  turned  him  into  a  star.  The 
official  Avho  had  paid  him,  had  asked  him  ^^■hether  he 
thought  later  on  of  obtaining  a  post  in  some  public 
department  or  in  the  Royal  Librar3\  His  ambition 
had  never  soared  so  high  and  did  not  yet  do  so. 


192  THE   GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

The  chief  object  of  human  existence  seems  to  be, 
and  must  indeed  be,  to  sjDend  one's  life  till  death 
in  the  least  unpleasant  manner  jDOssible.  This  aim 
does  not  exclude  solicitude  for  the  good  of  others, 
for  happiness  includes  the  consciousness  of  not 
having  infringed  others'  rights  unnecessarily.  There- 
fore ill-gotten  wealth  cannot  secure  a  pleasant  life, 
nor  can  any  path  which  leads  over  the  prostrate 
bodies  of  others.  Accordingly  Utilitarianism,  or 
the  philosophy  which  aims  at  the  greatest  happiness 
of  the  greatest  number,  is  not  immoral. 

In  spite  of  all  his  asceticism  John  could  not  help 
feeling  happ3\  His  happiness  consisted  in  the  half- 
consciousness  that  he  could  live  his  life  without  the 
great  anxiety  which  the  insecurity  of  means  of 
existence  causes.  He  had  been  threatened  by 
penur}^  and  was  now  secure ;  life  had  been  restored 
to  him,  and  it  is  a  happy  thing  to  be  able  to  live 
before  one  has  done  growing.  His  chest,  "\\'hich 
had  been  narrowed  by  hunger  and  over-exertion, 
broadened  itself ;  his  back  grew  straighter ;  life 
no  longer  seemed  so  melancholy.  He  was  con- 
tented with  his  lot ;  things  took  on  a  more  cheerful 
aspect,  and  he  ^\ould  have  been  ungrateful  had  he 
still  remained  among  the  malcontents. 

But  this  did  not  last  long.  When  he  saw  his 
old  comrades  round  him  in  a  position  in  which  his 
happiness  had  effected  no  change,  he  found  that 
there  was  a  want  of  harmony  between  them.  They 
had  been  accustomed  to  help  him  as  one  in  need 
and  now  he  needed  their  help  no  longer.  They  had 
liked  him,   because  they  protected  him  and  were 


A   KINCrS   PROTJ^Gl^  193 

accustomed  to  see  him  below  them.  But  when  he 
came  upwards,  near  them  and  above  them,  they 
found  him  necessarily^  altered  by  altered  circum- 
stances. The  necessitous  man  is  not  so  bold  in  his 
opinions  nor  so  stiff  in  the  back  as  the  prosperous 
one.  He  was  altered  for  them,  but  was  he  therefore 
worse  ?  Self-esteem  under  other  circumstances  is 
generally  well  thought  of.  Enough  !  He  annoyed 
others  bj^  the  fact  that  he  was  fortunate,  and  still 
more  because  he  wished  to  help  others  to  be  so. 

The  present  he  had  received  entailed  obligations, 
and  John  gave  himself  diligently  to  study.  He 
passed  his  examinations  in  Philology,  Astronom}^ 
and  Political  Science,  but  received  in  none  of  these 
subjects  such  a  good  testimonial  as  he  had  expected. 
He  had  studied  too  much  in  one  way  and  too  little 
in  another. 

In  examination  time  he  generally  had  an  attack 
of  aphasia.  Phj^siologists  usually  ascribe  this  weak- 
ness to  an  injury  in  the  left  temple.  And  as  a  matter 
of  fact  Jolin  had  two  scars  above  his  left  eye.  One 
was  caused  by  the  blow  of  an  axe,  the  other  hy  a 
rock  against  which  he  had  struck  himself  in  jumping 
down  the  Observatory  hill.  He  was  inclined  to 
trace  to  this  the  great  difficulty  he  had  in  delivering 
public  addresses  and  speaking  foreign  languages. 

Accordingly,  during  examinations,   he  would  sit 

there,  unable  to  give  an  answer  although  he  knew 

more  than  was  asked.     Then  there  came  over  him 

a  spirit  of  defiance,  of  self-torment,  of  ill-humour, 

and  he  felt  tempted  to  throw  up  the  whole  thing. 

He  criticised  the  text-books  and  felt  dishonest  in 
o 


194  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

learning  what  lie  despised.  The  role  assigned  to 
him  began  to  oppress  him ;  he  longed  to  get  away 
from  it  all  to  something  else,  wherever  it  might  be. 
It  was  not  that  he  regarded  the  king's  present  as  a 
benefaction.  It  was  a  stipend,  a  reward  for  merit, 
such  as  artists  at  all  periods  have  received  for  the 
purpose  of  carrying  on  their  self-cultivation.  His 
ro3^al  patron  was  not  merely  the  king  but  his  personal 
friend  and  admirer.  Therefore  the  gift  exercised  no 
kind  of  restraint  upon  his  rebellious  thoughts ;  he 
only  let  himself  be  temporarily  deceived,  and  be- 
lieved that  all  was  right  with  the  world,  because  he 
prospered.  His  radicalism  had  been  considerably 
mitigated ;  he  no  longer  thought  that  all  which 
was  wrong  in  the  state  was  the  fault  of  the  monarchy, 
nor  did  he  believe  with  the  pagans  that  better 
harvests  would  follow  if  the  king  was  sacrificed  on 
an  idol-altar.  His  mother  would  have  wept  for 
joy  at  his  distinction,  had  she  lived,  so  strong  were 
her  aristocratic  leanings. 

All  of  us,  including  croAMi  princes,  are  democrats, 
inasmuch  as  we  wish  those  above  us  to  come  down 
to  our  level ;  but  when  we  ascend,  w^e  do  not  wish 
to  be  pulled  down.  The  question  is  only  whether 
that  which  is  "  above  "  us  is  so  in  a  spiritual  sense, 
and  whether  it  ought  to  be  there.  That  was  what 
John  began  to  be  doubtful  of. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   WINDING   UP 

(1872) 

At  the  beginning  of  the  spring  term,  John  took 
up  his  quarters  with  an  elder  comrade  in  order  to 
continue  his  studies.  But  when  he  had  again  the 
old  books  before  him  which  he  had  already  studied 
so  long,  he  felt  a  distaste  for  them.  His  brain  was 
full  of  impressions,  of  collected  literary  material, 
and  refused  to  take  in  any  more  ;  his  imagination 
and  thought  were  busily  at  work  and  would  not 
let  memory  be  alone  active ;  he  had  fits  of  doubt 
and  apathy  and  often  remained  the  whole  day 
Ijnng  on  the  sofa.  Then  the  desire  would  some- 
times awake  to  be  altogether  free  and  to  plunge  into 
the  life  of  activity.  But  the  royal  stipend  held 
him  fast  in  fetters  and  imposed  on  him  obligations. 
Having  received  it,  he  was  bound  to  go  on  studying 
for  his  doctor's  degree,  the  course  of  reading  for 
which  he  had  half  completed.  So  he  applied  him- 
self to  philosoph}',  but  when  he  read  the  history  of 
it,  he  found  all  systems  equally  valid  or  invalid,  and 
his  mind  resisted  all  new  ideas. 

Li  the  literary  club  there  was  disunion  and 
lethargy.  All  their  youthful  poems  had  been 
read  and  no  one  produced  any  more,  bo  that  they 

195 


196  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

only  met  together  to  drink  punch.  Is  had  exposed 
himself,  and  after  a  scene  with  another  member,  he 
had  been  throAMi  out.  He  drew  his  Imife  and  got 
M'ell  thrashed.  He  saved  himself  from  Morse  by 
affecting  to  treat  the  affair  as  a  joke,  and  was  now  a 
mere  laughing-stock,  since  it  had  been  discovered 
that  his  wisdom  consisted  in  quotations  from  the 
students'  periodicals  which  the  others  had  not  had 
the  wit  to  utilise.  At  the  beginning  of  term  an 
^Esthetic  Societ}^  had  been  founded  by  the  professor 
of  iEsthetics,  and  this  made  their  own  literär}- 
society,  the  "  Runa,"  superfluous. 

At  one  of  the  meetings  of  the  former,  John's  dis- 
content with  classical  authorities  broke  out.  He 
had  been  drinking  that  evening  and  was  half- 
intoxicated.  Li  conversation  with  the  professor 
dangerous  ground  was  touched  upon  and  John 
was  enticed  so  far  out  of  his  reserve  as  to  declare 
Dante  without  significance  for  humanity  and  over- 
estimated. John  had  plent}^  of  reasons  to  allege 
for  his  opinion,  but  could  not  express  them  to  advan- 
tage when  the  professor  set  upon  him,  and  the  whole 
company  gathered  round  the  disputants,  who  were 
squeezed  into  a  corner  bj-  the  stove.  He  wanted 
in  the  first  place  to  say  that  the  construction  of  the 
Divine  Comedy  was  not  original,  but  a  very  ordinary 
form  which  had  already  been  emplo3'ed  shortly 
before  in  the  Vision  of  Albericns.  Furthermore  his 
opinion  was  tliat  in  this  poem  Dante  did  not  reflect 
the  culture  and  thoughts  of  his  period,  because  he 
was  so  uncuUured  that  he  did  not  even  know  Greek. 
He  was  not  a  philosopher,  for  he  hampered  thought 


THE   WINDING   UP  197 

by  the  fetters  of  revelation,  and  therefore  lie  was  no 
precursor  of  the  Renaissance  or  the  Reformation. 
He  was  no  patriot,  for  he  venerated  the  German 
empire  as  estabhshed  by  God.  He  was  at  most  a 
local  patriot  of  Florence.  Nor  was  he  a  democrat, 
for  he  always  dreamt  of  a  iniion  of  the  empire  and 
the  papac}".  He  did  not  attack  the  papacy,  but  only 
individual  popes  who  lived  immoral  lives,  as  he 
himself  had  done  in  his  youth.  He  was  a  monk, 
a  truly  idiotic  child  of  his  age,  for  he  sent  unbaptised 
children  to  hell.  He  was  a  narrow-minded  royalist 
who  put  Brutus  next  to  Satan  in  the  deepest  hell. 
He  was  entirely  wanting  in  the  power  of  self- 
criticism  ; — while  he  reckons  ingratitude  to  friends 
and  betrayal  of  one's  fatherland  among  the  worst 
of  crimes,  he  places  his  o\mi  friend  and  teacher, 
Brunetto  Latini,  in  hell,  and  supports  the  German 
Emperor,  Henr}^  VII,  against  his  native  city 
Florence.  He  had  bad  literary  taste,  for  he  reckoned 
as  the  six  greatest  poets  of  the  world  Homer,  Horace, 
Lucan,  Ovid,  Virgil  and  himself.  How  could 
modern  critics  who  were  so  severe  on  all  scandalous 
literature  praise  Dante,  who  in  his  poem  cast  dis- 
honour on  so  many  contemporary  persons  and 
families  ?  He  even  scolds  his  own  dear  native  cit}', 
exclaiming  when  he  finds  five  nobly-born  Florentines 
in  Hell  :  "  Rejoice  !  0  Florence  !  for  thy  name  is 
not  only  great  over  land  and  sea,  but  also  in  hell. 
Five  of  th}^  citizens  are  in  tliieves'  company;  my 
cheeks  blush  at  the  sight  of  them.  But  one  thing 
I  know ;  punishment  will  light  upon  thee,  Florence, 
and  may  it  happen  soon  !  " 


198  THE  GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

As  is  usual  in  such  debates,  the  attacked  and  the 
attacker  often  changed  their  ground.  Jolin  wished 
to  prove  to  the  professor  that  from  his  point  of  ^'iew 
the  Cmnmedia  was  a  poHtical  pamphlet,  but  then 
the  professor  veered  round,  adopted  the  enemy's 
point  of  view  and  said  that  he  should  value  it  as 
such.  ^Vhercupon  John  answered  that  it  was 
exactly  as  such  that  he  designated  it,  but  not  as  a 
magnificent  poem  of  everlasting  value,  which  the 
professor  had  declared  it  to  be  in  his  lectures. 
Again  the  professor  changed  his  ground,  and  said 
that  the  poem  should  be  judged  by  the  standard  of 
the  period  at  which  it  was  composed. 

"  Exactly  so,"  answered  Jolm,  "  but  you  have 
judged  it  by  the  standard  of  our  time  and  all  suc- 
ceeding times,  and  therefore  3'ou  are  wrong.  But 
even  Mith  regard  to  its  ovm.  time  the  work  is  not  an 
epoch-making  one  ;  it  is  not  in  advance  of  its  period, 
but  belongs  strictl}-  to  it,  or  rather  lags  behind  it. 
It  is  a  linguistic  monument  for  Italy,  nothing  more, 
and  should  never  be  read  in  a  Swedish  university, 
because  the  language  is  antiquated,  and  finally 
because  it  is  too  insignificant  to  be  regarded  as  a 
link  in  the  development  of  culture," 

The  result  of  the  controversy  was  that  John  was 
regarded  as  shameless  and  half-cracked. 

After  this  explosion  he  was  exhausted  and  in- 
capable of  work.  The  whole  of  the  life  in  a  town 
where  he  did  not  feel  at  home  was  distasteful  to  him. 
His  companions  advised  him  to  take  a  thorough 
rest,  for  he  had  worked  too  hard,  and  so,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  had.     Various  schemes  again  presented 


THE   WINDING   UP  199 

themselves  to  his  mind,  but  Avithout  result.  The 
grey  dirty  town  vexed  him,  the  scener}-  around  de- 
pressed him ;  he  lay  on  a  sofa  and  looked  at  the 
illustrations  in  a  German  newspaper.  Views  of 
foreign  scenery  had  the  same  effect  as  music  on  his 
mind  and  he  felt  a  longing  to  see  green  trees  and  blue 
seas ;  he  Avished  to  go  into  the  country  but  it  was 
still  only  February,  the  sk}^  was  as  grey  as  sack- 
cloth, the  streets  and  roads  were  muddy.  When 
he  felt  most  depressed,  he  went  to  his  friend  the 
natural  science  student.  It  refreshed  him  to  see 
his  herbarium  and  microscope,  his  aquarium  and 
physiological  i3reparations.  Most  of  all  he  found  a 
pleasure  in  the  society  of  the  quiet,  peaceable  atheist, 
who  let  the  world  go  its  way,  for  he  knew  that  he 
worked  better  for  the  future,  in  his  small  measure, 
than  the  poet  Avith  his  excitable  outbreaks.  He  had 
a  little  of  the  artist  left  in  him  and  painted  in  oils. 
To  think  that  he  could  call  up  as  if  by  enchantment 
a  green  landscape  amid  the  mists  of  this  wintry 
spring  and  hang  it  on  his  wall !  " 

"  Is  painting  difficult  ?  "  he  asked  his  friend. 

"No,  indeed  !  It  is  easier  than  drawing.  Try 
it!" 

Jolm,  Avho  had  already,  Avith  the  greatest  calm, 
composed  a  song  Avith  a  guitar-accompaniment, 
thought  it  not  impossible  for  him  to  paint,  and  he 
borroAved  an  easel,  colours,  and  a  paint-brush.  Then 
he  Avent  home  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  room. 
From  an  illustrated  paper  he  copied  a  picture  of  a 
ruined  castle.  When  he  saw  the  clear  blue  of  the 
sky  he  felt  sentimental,  and  Avhcn  he  had  conjured 


200  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

up  green  bushes  and  grass  he  felt  unspeakably  happy 
as  though  he  had  eaten  haschish.  His  first  effort 
Avas  successful.  But  now  he  wished  to  copy  a  paint- 
ing. That  was  harder.  Everything  was  green  and 
bro  AMI.  He  could  not  make  his  colours  harmonise 
with  the  original  and  felt  in  despair. 

One  da}^  when  he  had  shut  himself  up  he  heard  a 
visitor  talking  with  his  friend  in  the  next  room. 
They  whispered  as  though  the}'  were  near  a  sick 
person.  "  Now  he  is  actually  painting,"  said  his 
friend  in  a  depressed  tone. 

^'VTiat  did  that  mean  ?  Did  they  consider  him 
cracked  ?  Yes.  He  began  to  think  about  himself, 
and  like  all  brooders  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
was  cracked.  ^Vhat  was  to  be  done  ?  If  they  shut 
him  up,  he  would  certainly  go  quite  mad.  "  Better 
anticipate  them,"  he  thought,  and  as  he  had  heard 
of  private  asylums  in  the  countr}',  where  the  patients 
could  walk  about  and  Avork  in  the  garden,  he  wrote 
to  the  director  of  one  of  them.  After  some  time  he 
received  a  friendly  answer  advising  him  to  be 
quiet.  His  correspondent  had  received  information 
about  Jolm  through  his  friend  and  understood  his 
state  of  mind.  He  told  him  it  was  only  a  crisis 
which  all  sensitive  natures  must  pass  through,  etc. 

Thai  danger,  then,  was  over.  But  he  Avished  to 
get  out  into  active  life  Avhenever  it  might  be. 

One  day  he  heard  that  a  traA^elling  theatrical 
compan}^  had  come  to  the  toAvn.  He  AATote  a  letter 
to  the  manager  and  solicited  an  engagement,  but  he 
received  no  ansAver  and  did  not  call  on  the  manager. 
Thus  he  Avas  tossed  to  and  fro,  till  at  last  fate  inter- 


THE   WINDING   UP  201 

vened  and  set  him  free.  Three  months  had  passed 
and  he  had  received  no  money  from  the  court- 
treasurer.  His  companions  advised  him  to  write 
and  make  a  polite  inquiry.  In  reply  he  was  told 
that  it  had  never  been  his  Majesty's  intention  to 
pay  him  a  regular  pension,  but  onl}-  a  single  donation. 
However,  in  consideration  of  his  needy  circum- 
stances, by  way  of  exception,  he  had  made  him  a 
grant  of  200  kronas,  which  would  shortly  be  sent. 

John  at  first  felt  glad,  for  he  was  free,  but  after- 
Avards  the  turn  which  affairs  had  taken  made  him 
uneasy,  for  the  papers  had  stated  that  he  A\as  the 
king's  stipendiary,  and  the  king  had  really  promised 
him  a  stipend  during  the  year  that  he  must  read  for 
his  degree.  Besides  this  the  court-marshal  had 
given  him  a  sort  of  half  promise  for  the  future  which 
could  hardl}^  be  considered  as  adequately  fulfilled 
by  a  donation  of  200  kronas.  Different  opinions 
were  expressed  on  the  matter.  Some  thought  that 
the  king  had  forgotten,  others  that  the  state  of  his 
finances  did  not  allow  of  a  further  gift,  or  that  his 
good  wishes  exceeded  his  powers.  No  one  expressed 
disapproval,  and  John  was  secreth'  glad,  had  he  not 
felt  a  certain  disgrace  in  the  withdrawal  of  the 
stipend,  so  that  he  might  be  suspected  of  having 
groundlessly  boasted  of  it.  Those  who  believed 
that  John  was  in  disfavour  at  court  ascribed  this  to 
the  fact  that  he  had  omitted  to  wait  upon  the  king 
in  person  when  he  AAas  in  Stockholm  at  Christmas 
and  the  New  Year.  Others  attributed  it  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  formally  presented  his  tragedy. 
Sinking   Hellas,    but    had    simply  sent    it    to    the 


202  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

palace,  instead  of  going  with  it,  which  his  sense  of 
independence  forbade  him  to  do.  Ten  3'ears  later 
he  heard  quite  a  new  exj)lanation  of  this  disfavour. 
He  was  said  to  have  composed  a  lampoon  on  the 
king.  But  this  was  a  pure  legend,  probably  the 
only  one  of  its  obscure  fabricator  which  would  reach 
posterity.  Anyhow  facts  remained  as  they  were 
and  his  resolve  was  quickl}^  taken.  He  would  go 
to  Stockholm  and  become  a  literary  man,  an  author 
if  possible,  should  he  prove  to  possess  sufficient 
capacity  for  that  calling. 

The  student  who  shared  his  room  undertook  to 
pay  his  return  journey,  and  alleged  as  a  pretext 
that  John  must  wait  some  time  in  Stockholm  lest 
the  landlord  should  be  uneas}'.  MeauAvhile  he 
could  collect  enough  money  to  pay  the  rent  which 
was  due  at  the  end  of  the  term. 

His  friends  gave  John  a  farewell  feast  and  John 
thanked  them,  aclmowledging  the  obligations  which 
each  owes  to  those  he  meets  in  social  intercourse. 
Every  personality  is  not  develoi)ed  simply  out  of 
itself,  but  derives  something  from  each  Avith  whom 
it  comes  in  contact,  just  as  the  bee  gathering  her 
honey  from  a  million  floA\ers,  appropriates  it  and 
gives  it  out  as  her  OAvn. 

Thus  he  stepped  into  life,  abandoning  dreams  and 
the  past  to  live  in  reality  and  the  present.  But  he 
was  ill-prepared  and  the  university  is  not  the  proper 
school  for  life.  He  felt  also  that  the  decisive  hour 
had  come.  In  a  clumsy  speech  he  called  the  feast  a 
"  svensexa,"  i.  e.  a  farewell  supper  for  a  bachelor 
on  the  eve  of  his  marriage,  for  he  was  noAv  to  be  a 


THE   WINDING   UP  203 

man  and  leave  boyhood  behind ;  he  was  to  become 
a  member  of  societj',  a  useful  citizen  and  eat  his 
own  bread. 

So  ho  believed  at  the  time,  but  he  soon  discovered 
that  his  education  had  unfitted  him  for  society, 
and  as  he  did  not  wish  to  be  an  outlaw  the  doubt 
awoke  in  him  whether  society,  of  which  after  all 
school  and  university  were  a  part,  was  not  to  blame 
for  his  education,  and  whether  it  had  not  serious 
defects  which  needed  a  remedy. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AMONG   THE   MALCONTENTS 

(1872) 

When  John  came  to  Stockholm,  he  borroAAed 
money  in  order  to  hire  a  room  near  the  Ladugård- 
slandet. Ahvaj's  under  the  away  of  sentiment,  he 
chose  this  quarter  of  the  town  because  he  always 
used  to  walk  there  in  his  childhood  on  the  1st  of 
May,  and  the  High  Street  especially  had  something 
of  a  holiday  air  about  it.  Moreover  it  soon  opened 
into  the  Zoological  Gardens,  which  became  his 
favourite  place  for  walks.  The  barracks  with  their 
drums  and  trumpets  had  something  exhilarating 
about  them,  and  there  were  fuic  views  over  the  sea 
which  was  close  at  hand.  There  was  plenty  of  light 
and  air.  When  lie  went  for  his  morning  walk  he  could 
choose  his  route  according  tc  his  mood.  If  he  was 
sad  and  depressed,  he  went  along  the  Sirishofsvägen  ; 
if  he  Avas  cheerful  he  turned  off  to  the  level  ground  of 
Manilla,  where  the  paradisial  rose-valley  exhaled 
joy  and  delight ;  if  he  was  despairing  and  anxious  to 
avoid  people  he  went  out  to  Ladugårdsgärdet,  where 
no  one  could  disturb  his  self-communings  and  his 
praj'ers  to  G^od.  Sometimes,  when  his  soul  was  in  a 
tumult,  he  remained  standing  by  the  cross-ways 
above  the  bridge  near  the  Zoological  Gardens,  irreso- 

204 


AMONG   THE   MALCONTENTS  205 

lute  which  way  to  take.  On  such  occasion  a  thou- 
sand forces  seemed  to  pull  him  in  all  directions. 

His  room  was  very  simple  and  commanded  no 
view.  It  smelt  of  poverty,  as  the  whole  house  did, 
in  which  the  only  person  of  standing  was  the  deputy- 
landlord,  a  policeman.  John  began  his  active 
career  by  painting,  out  of  a  sense  of  need  to  give 
his  feelings  shape  and  to  express  them  in  a  palpable 
way,  for  the  little  letters  huddled  together  on  the 
paper  were  dead  and  could  not  express  his  mind  so 
plainly  and  simultaneously.  He  did  not  think  of 
being  a  painter  in  order  to  exhibit  or  sell  pictures. 
To  step  to  the  easel  w^as  for  him  just  like  sitting  do\^ai 
and  singing.  At  the  same  time  he  renewed  his 
acquaintance  with  his  friend  the  sculptor,  who 
introduced  him  to  a  circle  of  young  painters.  These 
were  all  discontent  with  the  Academy  and  the 
antiquated  methods  which  could  not  express  their 
vague  dreams.  They  still  preserved  the  Bohemian 
type,  so  late  did  the  waves  of  modern  ideas  beat  on 
the  far  coasts  of  the  North.  They  wore  long  hair, 
slouched  hats,  brilliant  cravats,  and  lived  like  the 
birds  of  heaven.  They  read  and  quoted  Byron  and 
dreamt  of  enormous  canvases  and  subjects  such 
as  no  studio  could  contain.  A  sculptor  and  a  Nor- 
wegian had  conceived  the  idea  of  hewing  a  statue 
out  of  the  Dovre  rock ;  a  painter  wished  to  paint 
the  sea  not  merely  as  a  level,  but  with  such  a  wide 
horizon  as  to  show  the  convex  curve  of  the  globe. 

This  took  John's  fancy.  One  should  give  expres- 
sion to  one's  inner  feelings  and  not  depict  mere 
sticks  and  stones  which  are  meaningless  in  them- 


206  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

selves  till  they  have  passed  through  the  alembic  of 
a  percipient  mind.  Therefore  the  artists  did  not 
make  studies  out  of  doors,  but  painted  at  home 
from  their  memory  and  imagination.  John  ahva3"s 
painted  the  sea  with  a  coast  in  the  foreground, 
some  gnarled  pine-trees,  a  couple  of  rocky  islets  in 
the  distance  and  a  white -painted  buoy.  The 
atmosphere  was  generally  gloomy,  with  a  weak  or 
strong  light  on  the  horizon ;  it  was  always  sunset 
or  moonlight,  never  clear  daylight. 

But  he  was  soon  woken  out  of  this  dream-life  partly 
by  hunger,  partly  by  recollecting  the  reality  which 
he  had  sought  in  order  to  save  himself  from  his 
dreams. 

Although  John  knew  little  of  contemporary^  politics, 
he  knew  that  the  democracy  or  peasant-class  had 
arrived  at  power,  that  they  had  declared  war  on  the 
official  and  middle  classes,  and  that  they  were  hated 
in  Upsala.  And  now  he  himself  was  to  enter  the 
ranks  of  the  combatants  and  attack  the  old  order  of 
things.  The  only  item  of  the  knowledge  which  he 
had  brought  with  him  from  Upsala  which  was  likely 
to  be  useful  here,  was  the  small  amount  of  political 
science  which  he  had  studied.  Of  what  use  were 
Astronom}^,  Philology,  ^Esthetics,  Latin  and  Chemis- 
try here  ?  He  knew  something  about  the  land-laws 
and  communal-laws,  but  had  no  idea  of  political 
economy,  finance  or  jurisprudence.  When  he  now 
began  to  look  about  for  a  suitable  paper  to  which  to 
attach  liimself,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  make  use 
of  his  old  connection  with  the  Afionhlaclety  but 
he  MTOte  for  a  small  evening  paper  which  had  lately 


AMONG  THE   MALCONTENTS  207 

appeared,  which  was  regarded  as  radical  and  was 
issued  by  the  New  Liberal  Union.  The  editor  held 
receptions  in  the  La  Croix  Cafe,  and  here  Jolm  was 
introduced  into  the  society  of  journalists.  He  felt  ill 
at  ease  among  them.  They  did  not  think  as  he  did, 
seemed  uncultivated,  as  indeed  tlic}^  were,  and  rather 
gossiped  than  discussed  important  matters.  They 
certainly  busied  themselves  with  facts,  but  these 
were  rather  trifles  than  great  questions.  They  were 
full  of  phrases,  but  did  not  seem  to  have  a  proper 
command  of  their  material.  John,  though  against 
his  will,  was  too  much  of  an  academic  aristocrat  to 
sj'mpathise  with  these  democrats,  who  for  the  most 
part  had  not  chosen  their  career,  but  been  forced 
into  it  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances.  He  found 
the  atmosphere  stifling  for  his  idealism,  and  came 
no  more  to  the  receptions  after  he  had  done  his 
business,  and  been  invited  to  write  for  the  paper. 

He  made  his  debut  as  an  art-critic.  His  first 
criticism  concerned  Winge's  "  Thor  with  the  giants  " 
and  Rosen's  "  Eric  XIV  and  Karin  Monsdotter." 
The  young  critic  naturally  wished  to  display  his 
learning,  though  all  he  had  was  what  he  had  picked 
up  in  lectures  and  books.  Therefore  his  criticism  of 
Winge  was  a  mere  eulogy.  His  remarks  chiefly 
regarded  the  subject  of  the  picture  as  a  Norse  one 
and  treated  in  the  grand  style.  The  painters  did 
not  like  this  sort  of  criticism,  as  they  considered  the 
only  point  to  be  criticised  in  a  work  of  art  was  the 
execution.  "  Eric  the  XIV  "  he  judged  from  his 
monomaniacal  point  of  view,  "aristocrat  or  demo- 
crat," and  found  fault  with  the  incorrect  conception 


208  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

of  Göran  Persson ,  whom  in  his  own  tragedy  Eric  XIV 
(subsequently  burnt)  he  had  represented  as  an  enemy 
of  the  noblHt}^  and  friend  of  the  people. 

Descended  from  his  OAvn  height  as  a  promising 
student,  author  and  royal  protegé  to  the  then  less 
regarded  class  of  journalists,  he  felt  himself  again  one 
of  the  lower  orders. 

After  the  editor  had  struck  out  his  learned  flour- 
ishes, the  articles  were  printed.  The  editor  told 
him  the}'  were  piquant,  but  advised  him  to  employ 
a  more  flowing  style.  He  had  not  j^et  caught  the 
journalistic  Imack. 

Then  John  planned  a  series  of  articles  in  which, 
under  the  title  "  Perspective,"  he  treated  of  social 
and  economic  questions.  In  these  he  attacked 
university  life,  the  divisions  of  the  classes,  the 
injurious  over-reading  and  the  unfortunate  position 
of  the  students.  Since  the  labour-question  at  that 
time  was  not  a  burning  one,  he  ventured  on  a  com- 
parison between  the  prospects  of  a  student  and  that 
of  a  workman,  declaring  the  latter  to  be  far  better 
off.  The  Avorkman  was  generally  in  good  health, 
could  support  himself  at  eighteen  and  marr}^  at 
twent}?-,  while  the  student  could  not  think  of  marriage 
and  making  a  livelihood  before  thirty.  As  a  remedy 
he  recommended  doing  away  with  the  final  examina- 
tion as  Jaabaek  had  already  done  m  Nor\va3%  and 
the  transference  of  the  university  to  Stockholm  in 
order  that  the  students  might  have  a  chance  of 
earning  something  during  their  course.  As  an 
example  he  adduced  the  case  of  modern  students  at 
Athens  who  learn  a  trade  while  they  study.     This 


AMONG   THE   MALCONTENTS         209 

was  all  clear  to  him  as  earl}-  as  1872,  j^t  when  he 
made  similar  suggestions  twelve  5^ears  later,  he  was 
thought  to  have  conceived  them  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment. 

At  the  same  time  he  took  an  engagement  on  a 
small  illustrated  ladies'  paper  and  wrote  biographical 
notices  and  novelettes.  The  ladies  were  verj-  kind, 
but  let  him  work  too  hard,  and  gave  him  all  kinds  of 
commissions  to  execute.  After  he  had  sjDent  two 
or  three  days  in  paying  visits,  dived  into  a  publisher's 
place  of  business,  read  biographical  romances  in 
three  or  four  volumes,  made  researches  in  the  library, 
run  to  the  printing-office  and  fuiallj^  written  his 
columns  carefull}',  setting  each  person  treated  of 
in  a  proper  historical  light,  and  analysing  his  career, 
he  received,  for  all  that  work,  fifteen  kronas.  He 
calculated  that  this  was  less  pay  per  hour  than  a 
servant  earned.  The  bread  of  the  literary  man  was 
certainly  hardl}'  earned,  and  that  this  is  the  common 
lot  of  authors  does  not  make  matters  better.  But 
the  profession  was  also  despised,  and  John  felt  that 
in  social  position  he  stood  below  his  brothers  who 
were  tradesmen,  below  the  actors,  yes,  even  below  the 
elementary  school-teachers. 

The  journalists  led  a  subterranean  existence,  but 
they  styled  themselves  "  we  "  and  wrote  as  though 
they  were  sovereigns  of  God's  appointment ;  they  had 
men's  weal  or  woe  in  their  hand,  since  the  chief 
weapon  in  the  struggle  for  existence  in  our  civilised 
days  is  social  reputation.  How  was  it  that  society 
had  given  these  free  lances  such  terrible  power 
without   taking   any  guarantees  ?     But   when   one 


210  THE   GROWTH   OF    A   SOUL 

comes  to  think,  M'liat  assurance  is  there  for  the 
capacity-  and  insight  of  the  law-givers  in  parhament, 
in  the  ministr}^  on  the  throne  ?  None  whatever  ! 
It  is  therefore  the  same  all  round.  There  were,  how- 
ever, two  classes  of  newspapers ;  the  conservative, 
which  wished  to  preserve  the  social  condition  with 
all  its  defects,  and  the  liberal,  which  wished  to  improve 
it.  The  former  enjoj-ed  a  certain  respect,  the  latter, 
none  at  all.  John  instinctively  sided  with  the  last, 
and  at  once  felt  that  he  was  regarded  as  every  one's 
enemy.  A  liberal  journalist  and  a  chronicler  of 
scandals  were  sjaionymous  terms.  At  home  he 
had  heard  the  usual  phrase  that  "  no  one  was  honour- 
able whose  name  had  not  appeared  in  the  paper 
Fatherland.'''  In  the  street  the}"  had  pointed  out 
to  him  a  man  who  looked  like  a  bandit,  with  the 
mark  of  a  dagger-stab  between  his  eyes,  and  said, 
"  There  goes  the  journalist  X."  In  the  Cafe  La 
Croix  he  felt  depressed  among  his  new  colleagues, 
but  none  the  less  chose  to  associate  with  this  un- 
popular group.  Did  he  choose  reallj^  ?  One  does 
not  choose  one's  impulses,  and  it  is  no  virtue  to  be 
a  democrat  when  one  hates  the  upper  classes  and 
has  no  pleasure  in  their  company. 

Meanwhile  for  social  intercourse  he  went  to  the 
artists.  It  was  a  strange  world  in  which  they  lived. 
There  was  so  much  nature  among  these  men  who 
busied  themselves  with  art.  They  dressed  badl}^ 
lived  like  beggars — one  of  them  lived  in  the  same 
room  with  the  servant — and  ate  what  they  could  get ; 
the}^  could  hardly  read,  and  had  no  knowledge  of 
orthography.     At  the  same  time  they  talked  like 


AMONG  THE   MALCONTENTS         211 

cultivated  people,  they  looked  at  things  from  an 
independent  point  of  view,  were  keenly  observant 
and  unfettered  by  dogmas.  One  of  them  four  years 
previously  had  minded  geese,  a  second  had  wielded 
the  smith's  hammer,  a  third  had  been  a  farmer's 
servant  and  walked  behind  the  dung-cart,  and  a 
fourth  had  been  a  soldier.  The}'  ate  with  Imives, 
used  their  sleeves  as  napkins,  had  no  handkerchiefs 
and  only  one  coat  in  winter.  However,  John  felt 
at  home  with  them,  though  of  late  yeavs,  he  had  been 
conversant  onl}'  with  cultivated  and  well-to-do 
young  people.  It  was  not  that  he  was  superior  to 
them,  for  that  they  did  not  aclmowledge,  nor  was  it 
an}^  use  to  quote  books  to  them,  for  the}'  accepted  no 
authoritj' .  His  doubts  as  regards  books,  especiallj^ 
text-books,  began  to  be  aroused,  and  he  began  to 
suspect  that  old  books  may  injure  a  modern  man's 
thinking  powers.  This  doubt  became  a  certainty 
when  he  met  one  of  the  group  whom  all  regarded  as 
a  genius. 

He  was  a  painter  about  thirty  j^ears  old,  formerly 
a  farmer's  servant  who  had  come  to  the  Academy  in 
order  to  become  an  artist.  After  he  had  spent  some 
time  in  the  painting  school  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  art  was  insufficient  as  a  medium  for  expressing 
his  thoughts,  and  he  lived  now  on  nothing,  while  he 
busied  himself  by  reflecting  on  the  questions  of  the 
time.  Badly  educated  at  an  elementar}'  school, 
he  had  now  flung  himself  on  the  most  up-to-date 
Ijooks  and  had  a  start  of  John ,  since  he  had  begun 
where  the  latter  had  left  off.  Between  John  and  him 
there  was  the  same  difference  as  between  a  mathe- 


212  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

matician  and  a  pilot.  The  former  can  calculate  in 
logarithms,  the  latter  can  turn  them  to  practical 
use.  But  Mans  also  Avas  critically  disposed  and 
did  not  believe  in  books  blindly.  He  had  no  readj^- 
made  scheme  or  s^^stem  into  which  to  fit  his  thoughts  ; 
he  alwa^'s  thought  freely,  investigated,  sifted  and 
only  retained  what  he  recognised  as  tenable.  More 
free  from  passions  than  John,  he  could  draw 
more  reckless  inferences,  even  when  they  went 
against  his  own  wishes  and  interests,  though  with 
certain  matter-of-course  limitations.  He  was  more- 
over prudent,  as  indeed  he  must  have  been  to  have 
worked  himself  up  from  such  a  low  position,  and 
understood  ho\v  to  be  silent  as  to  certain  conclusions, 
which,  if  expressed  tactlessly  and  in  the  wrong 
place,  might  have  injured  him.  As  his  literär}^ 
adviser,  he  had  a  telegraph-assistant  whose  knowledge 
Måns  knew  better  how  to  use  than  its  o\nier  himself  ; 
the  latter  had  not  a  very  lively  intellect,  although  in 
his  knowledge  of  languages  he  possessed  the  key  to 
the  three  great  modern  literatures.  Passionless  and 
self-conscious,  with  a  strong  control  over  his  im- 
pulses, he  stood  outside  everything,  contemplating 
and  smiling  at  the  free  pla}'  of  thought  which  he 
enjoyed  as  a  work  of  art,  with  the  accompan;ying 
certainty  that  it  was  after  all  only  an  illusion. 

With  both  of  tliese  John  luid  many  friendl}^ 
disputes.  When  he  drew  up  his  schemes  for  the 
future  of  men  and  society  he  could  rouse  Måns' 
enthusiasm  and  carry  him  along  with  him,  but  when 
he  had  taken  his  hearer  a  certain  way  with  his  emo- 
tional and  passionate  descriptions,  the  latter  took 


AMONG   THE   MALCONTENTS  213 

out  his  microscope,  found  the  weak  sjJot  where  to 
insert  his  knife,  and  cut.  On  such  occasions  Jolrn 
was  impatient  and  motioned  his  opponent  away, 
"  You  are  a  pedant,"  he  said,  "  and  fasten  on  details," 
But  sometimes  it  turned  out  that  the  "  detail  " 
was  a  premise  the  excision  of  which  made  the  whole 
grand  fabric  of  inference  collapse,  John  was  always 
a  poet,  and  had  he  continued  as  such  unhindered  he 
might  have  brought  it  to  something.  The  poet  can 
speak  to  the  point  like  the  preacher,  and  that  is  an 
advantageous  position.  He  can  rattle  on  without 
being  interrupted,  and  therefore  he  can  persuade 
if  not  convince.  It  was  through  these  two  un- 
learned men  that  John  learned  a  philosophy  which 
was  not  known  at  Upsala.  In  the  course  of  conver- 
sation, his  opponents  often  referred  to  an  authority 
whom  they  called  "  Buckle,"  John  rejected  an 
authority  of  whom  he  had  heard  nothing  in  Uj)sala. 
But  the  name  continually  recurred  and  worried  him 
to  such  an  extent  that  he  at  last  asked  his  friends  to 
lend  him  the  book.  The  effect  of  reading  it  was 
such  that  John  regarded  his  acquaintance  with  the 
book  as  the  vestibule  of  his  intellectual  life.  Here 
there  was  an  atmosphere  of  pure  naked  truth.  So 
it  should  be  and  so  it  was,  Man,  like  all  other 
organised  beings,  was  under  the  control  of  natural 
laws ;  all  so-called  spiritual  qualities  rest  on  a  material 
basis,  and  chemical  affinities  are  as  spiritual  as  the 
sympathies  of  souls.  The  whole  of  speculative 
philosophy  which  wished  to  evolve  laws  from  the 
inner  consciousness  was  only  a  better  kind  of  theologj^ 
and  what  was  worse,  an  inquisition,  which  wished 


214  THE   GROAVTH   OF  A   SOUL 

to  confine  the  many.sidedncss  of  the  Morld-process 
within  the  limits  of  an  individual  system.  "  No 
S3'stem  "  is  Buckle's  motto.  Doubt  is  the  beginning 
of  all  wisdom,  doubt  means  investigation  and  stimu- 
lates intellectual  progress.  The  truth  which  one 
seeks  is  simply  the  discovery  of  natural  laws. 
Knowledge  is  the  highest,  moralit}'  is  only  an  acci- 
dental form  of  behaviour,  which  depends  upon 
different  social  conventions.  Only  l-aiowledge  can 
make  men  happy,  and  the  simple-minded  or  ignorant 
with  their  moral  strivings,  their  benevolence  and 
their  philanthropy  are  only  injurious  or  useless. 

And  now  he  drew  the  necessar}'  conclusions. 
Heavenly  love  and  its  result,  marriage,  is  conditioned 
as  to  that  result  by  such  a  prosaic  matter  as  the 
price  of  provisions ;  the  rate  of  suicide  varies  with 
wages,  and  religion  is  conditioned  by  natural  scenery, 
climate  and  soil.  His  mind  Avas  predisposed  to  receive 
the  new  doctrines,  and  now  they  made  their 
triumphant  entry.  John  had  always  planted  his 
feet  firmly  on  the  earth,  and  neither  the  balloon- 
vo3'ages  of  poetrj^  nor  the  will-o'-the-wisps  of  Grerman 
philosophy  had  found  a  sincere  adherent  in  him. 
He  had  sat  in  despair  over  Kant's  Kritik  der 
reinen  Vernunft,  and  asked  himself  with  curiosity, 
whether  it  was  he  who  M'as  so  stupid  or  Kant  who 
was  so  obscure.  The  study  of  the  history  of  philo- 
sophy, in  which  he  had  seen  how  each  philosopher 
pointed  to  his  sj'stem  as  the  true  one,  and  championed 
it  against  others,  had  left  him  amazed.  Now  it 
was  clear  to  him  that  the  idealists  who  mingle  their 
obscure  perceptions  with  clear  presentations  of  facts 


AMONG  THE   MALCONTENTS  215 

were  only  savages  or  children,  and  that  the  realists, 
who  were  alone  capable  of  clear  perceptions,  were 
the  most  highly  developed  in  the  scale  of  creation. 
The  poets  and  philosophers  are  somnambulists, 
and  the  religious  who  always  live  in  fear  of  the  un- 
kno\\n  are  like  animals  in  a  forest  who  fear  every 
rustle  in  the  bushes,  or  like  primitive  men  who 
sacrificed  to  the  thunder  instead  of  erecting  light- 
ning rods. 

Now  he  had  a  weapon  in  his  hand  to  wield  against 
the  old  authorities  and  against  the  schools  and 
universities  which  were  enslaved  by  patronage. 
Buckle  himself  had  run  away  from  school,  had  never 
been  at  a  universit}^  and  hated  them.  Apropos  of 
Locke  he  remarks,  "  Were  this  deep  thinker  now  alive, 
he  would  inveigh  against  our  great  universities  and 
schools,  where  countless  subjects  are  learnt  which 
no  one  needs,  and  which  few  take  the  trouble  to 
remember." 

Accordingly  Upsala  had  been  Avrong,  and  John 
right.  He  knew  that  there  were  ignorant  savants 
there,  and  that  it  was  on  account  of  their  own  want 
of  culture  that  the  professors  of  philosophy  could 
teach  nothing  but  German  philosophy.  They  neither 
knew  English  nor  French  philosophy  for  the  simple 
reason  that  the}'  only  understood  Latin  and  German. 
Buckle's  History  of  Civilisation  iyi  Eiiglmid  was 
written  in  1857,  but  didnot  reach  Sweden  till  1871-72. 
Even  then  the  soil  was  not  ready  for  the  seed.  The 
learned  critics  were  unfavourable  to  Buckle,  and 
the  seed  took  root  only  in  some  young  minds  who 
had  no  authoritative  voice. 


216  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

'■  No  literature,"  saj^s  Buckle  himself,  "  can  be 
useful  to  a  people,  if  they  are  not  prepared  to  receive 
it."  Thus  it  was  with  Buckle  and  his  work,  which 
preceded  that  of  Darwin  (1858)  and  contained  all  its 
inferences — a  proof  that  evolution  in  the  world  of 
thought  is  not  so  strictly  conditioned  as  has  been 
believed.  Buckle  did  not  know  Mill  or  Spencer, 
whose  thoughts  now  rule  the  world,  but  he  said 
most  of  what  they  said  subsequently. 

Now,  if  John  had  had  a  character,  i.  e.  if  he  had 
been  ruled  by  a  single  quiet  purpose  directed  towards 
one  object,  he  would  have  extracted  from  Buckle 
all  that  answered  his  purpose  and  left  out  all  that 
told  against  it.  But  he  was  a  truth-seeker  and  did 
not  shrink  from  looking  into  the  abj-ss  of  contra- 
dictions, especially  as  Buckle  never  asserted  that  he 
had  found  the  truth,  and  because  truth  is  relative 
and  it  is  often  found  on  both  sides.  Doubt,  criti- 
cism, inquiry  are  the  chief  matter,  and  the  only 
useful  course  to  pursue,  as  they  guarantee  liberty. 
Sermons,  programmes,  certainty,  system,  "  truth  " 
are  various  forms  of  constraint  and  stupidity.  But 
it  is  impossible  to  be  a  consistent  doubter  when  one  is 
crammed  full  with  "  complete  evidence,"  and  when 
one's  judgment  is  swayed  by  class-prejudice,  anxiety 
for  a  living  and  struggles  for  a  position.  John 
became  calm  when  he  learnt  that  all  that  was  Avrong 
in  the  world  wa^  Avrong  in  accordance  with  necessary 
law,  but  he  became  furious  when  he  made  the 
further  discovery  that  our  social  condition,  our  re- 
ligion and  morality  were  absurdities.  He  wished  to 
understand  and  pardon  his  opponents,  since  in  their 


AM0NC4   THE   MALCONTENTS  217 

actions  they  were  no  more  free  than  he  was,  but  he 
was  in  duty  bound  to  strangle  them  since  tliey 
hindered  the  evohition  of  society  towards  universal 
happiness,  and  that  was  the  onl}^  and  greatest  crime 
that  could  be  committed.  But  as  there  were  no 
criminals,  how  could  one  get  hold  of  the  crime  ? 

He  was  rejoiced  that  the  mistakes  had  now  been 
discovered,  but  despair  oppressed  him  again  when  he 
saw  that  the  discovery  was  premature.  Nothing 
could  be  done  for  many  3'ears  to  come.  Social 
evolution  was  a  very  slow  process.  Consequently 
he  must  lie  at  anchor  in  the  roadstead  waiting  for  the 
tide.  But  this  waiting  was  too  long  for  him;  he 
heard  an  inner  voice  bidding  him  speak,  for  if  one 
does  not  spread  what  light  one  has,  how  can  popular 
views  be  changed  ?  Yes,  but  a  premature  pro- 
mulgation of  new  ideas  can  do  no  good.  Thus  he 
was  tossed  to  and  fro.  Everything  round  him  now 
seemed  so  old  and  out  of  date  that  he  could  not  read 
a  newspaper  without  getting  an  attack  of  cramp. 
They  only  had  regard  to  the  present  moment ;  no 
one  thought  of  the  future.  His  philosophical  friend 
comforted  and  calmed  him,  through,  among  other 
sayings,  a  sentence  of  La  Bru3'cre,  "  Don't  be  angry 
because  men  are  stupid  and  bad,  or  you  will  have  to 
be  angry  because  a  stone  falls ;  both  are  subject  to 
the  same  laws  ;  one  must  be  stupid  and  the  other 
fall." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,"  said  John,  "  but  think  of 
having  to  be  a  bird  and  live  in  a  ditch  !  Air  !  light  ! 
I  cannot  breathe  or  see,"  he  exclaimed;  "I 
suffocate ! " 


218  THE  GROWTH  OF  A  SOUL 

"  Write  !  "  answered  his  friend. 

"  Yes,  but  what  ?  " 

Where  should  he  begin  ?  Buckle  had  already 
written  everj'thing,  and  3'et  it  A\'as  as  though  it  had 
not  been  written.  The  AA^orst  thing  Mas  that  he 
felt  he  lacked  the  power.  Hitherto  he  had  only 
felt  a  very  moderate  degree  of  ambition.  He  did 
not  wish  to  march  at  the  head,  to  be  a  conqueror 
and  so  on.  But  to  go  in  front  with  an  axe  as  a  simple 
pioneer,  to  fell  trees,  root  up  thickets,  and  let  others 
build  bridges  and  throw  up  redoubts,  was  enough 
for  him.  It  is  often  observable  that  great  ambition 
is  only  the  sign  of  great  power.  John  was  moder- 
ately ambitious,  because  he  was  now  onl}'  conscious 
of  moderate  powers.  Formerly  when  he  was  young 
and  strong  he  had  great  confidence  in  himself.  He 
was  a  fanatic,  i.  e.  his  will  was  supported  by  powerful 
passions,  but  his  awakened  insight  and  healthy 
doubt  had  sobered  his  self-confidence.  The  work 
before  him  took  the  form  of  rock-\\alls  which  must  be 
pulled  down,  but  he  was  not  so  simple  as  to  venture 
on  the  task. 

Now  he  began  to  habituate  himself  forcibly  to 
doubt  in  order  to  bo  patient  and  not  to  explode. 
He  entrenched  himself  in  doubt  as  in  a  fortress,  and 
as  a  means  of  self-preserA'ation  he  determined  to 
depict  his  struggles  and  doubts  in  a  drama.  The 
subject  matter  which  he  had  been  turning  over  in 
his  mind  for  a  3'ear  he  took  from  the  history  of  the 
Reformation  in  Sweden.  Thus  was  composed  the 
drama  later  on  known  as  The  Apostate. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    RED    ROOM 

(1872) 

In  autumn  occurred  the  death  of  Charles  XV. 
With  the  mourning,  which  was  fairly  sincere  and 
widespread,  there  mingled  gloomy  anxieties  for 
the  future.  One  of  the  young  painters  who  be- 
longed to  John's  circle  of  friends  had  just  received 
a  ro^^al  stipend  and  gone  to  Norway.  He  had 
now  to  return  quite  destitute  and  without  any 
prospects  for  the  future.  John  was  accustomed 
to  go  with  him  into  the  Zoological  Gardens  in  order 
to  paint,  and  occupy  his  mind  while  he  was  waiting 
for  an  answer  from  the  theatrical  manager  to  whom 
he  had  sent  his  drama. 

There  is  indeed  no  occupation  which  so  absorbs 
all  the  thoughts  and  emotions  so  much  as  painting. 
John  watched  and  enjoyed  the  delicate  harmonies 
of  the  lines  in  the  branch-formation  of  the  trees, 
in  the  wave-like  curves  of  the  ground,  but  his  paint- 
brush was  too  coarse  to  reproduce  the  contours 
as  he  wished.  Then  he  took  his  pen  and  made  a 
drawing  in  detail.  But  when  he  tried  to  transfer 
it  to  his  canvas  and  paint  it,  the  whole  appeared 
but  a  smudge. 

Pelle,  on  the  other  hand,  Mas  an  impressionist 
219 


220  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

and  took  no  notice  of  details.  He  took  up  the 
landscape  at  a  stroke,  so  to  speak,  and  gave  the 
colours  their  due  value,  but  the  various  objects 
melted  into  uncertain  silhouettes.  Jolin  thought 
Pelle 's  landscapes  more  beautiful  than  the  reality, 
although  he  cherished  great  reverence  for  the 
works  of  the  Creator.  After  he  had  wiled  away 
about  a  month  in  painting,  he  went  one  evening 
into  the  Cafe  La  Croix.  The  first  person  he  met 
was  his  former  editor,  who  said,  "  I  have  just  heard 
from  X."  (a  young  author)  "  that  the  Theatre  Ro^'al 
has  refused  The  Apostate." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  answered  John.  He 
did  not  feel  well  and  left  the  company  as  soon  as 
possible.  The  next  day  he  went  to  his  former 
instructor  to  fuid  how  the  matter  stood.  The 
latter  began  first  to  praise,  and  then  to  criticise  it, 
which  is  the  right  method.  He  said  that  the 
characters  of  Olaus  Petri  and  Gustav  Wasa  had  been 
brought  doMai  from  their  proper  level  and  distorted. 
John,  on  the  other  hand,  held  that  he  had  given 
a  realistic  representation  of  them  as  they  probably 
were,  before  their  figures  had  been  idealised  by 
patriotic  considerations.  His  friend  replied  that 
that  ^vas  no  good ;  the  public  would  never  accept 
a  new  reading  of  their  characters  till  critical  inquiry 
had  done  its  preliminary-  \\ork. 

That  was  true,  but  the  blow  Avas  a  heavy  one, 
although  dealt  with  as  much  consideration  as 
possible,  and  the  author  was  invited  to  remodel 
his  drama.  He  had  again  been  premature  in  his 
attempt.     There  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to 


THE   RED   ROOM  221 

wait  and  wile  away  the  time.  To  think  of  re- 
modelhng  it  now  was  not  possible  for  him,  for  he 
saw,  when  he  read  it  through  again,  that  it  was 
all  cast  in  one  piece  and  that  the  details  could  not 
be  altered.  He  could  not  change  it,  unless  he 
changed  his  thoughts,  and  therefore  he  must  wait. 

Now  he  took  to  reading  again.  Chance  brought 
into  his  hand  two  of  "  the  best  books  which  one 
can  read."  They  were  De  Toe  que  ville 's  Democracy 
in  America  and  Prevost-Paradol's  The  Neiv  France. 
The  former  increased  his  doubts  as  to  the  possibility 
of  democrac}' in  an  uncultivated  community.  Written 
with  sincere  admiration  for  the  political  institutions 
of  America,  which  the  author  holds  up  as  a  pattern 
for  Europe,  this  work  points  out  so  sincerel}^  the 
dangers  of  democrac}',  as  to  make  even  a  born  hater 
of  the  aristocracy  pause, 

John's  theories  received  terrible  blows,  but  this 
time  his  good  sense  triumphed  over  his  prejudices. 
His  loss  of  faith  in  his  own  powers,  however,  had 
a  demoralising  effect  upon  him,  and  he  was  soon 
ripe  for  absolute  scepticism.  Sentences  such  as 
the  following  admitted  at  that  time  of  no  contradic- 
tion :  "  The  moral  power  of  the  majority  is  based 
partly  upon  the  conviction  that  a  number  of  men 
have  more  understanding,  intelligence  and  wisdom 
than  an  individual,  and  a  great  number  of  lawgivers 
more  than  a  selection  of  them.  That  is  the  principle 
of  equality  applied  to  intellectual  gifts.  This 
doctrine  attacks  the  pride  of  humanity  in  its  inner- 
most citadel." 

An  individualist  like  John  did  not   perceive  that 


222  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

this  pride  can  and  must  be  overcome.  Nor  did 
he  see  that  wisdom  and  inteUigence  can  be  spread 
b}^  means  of  good  schools  among  the  masses. 

"  When  a  man  or  a  party  in  the  United  States 
suffers  injustice,  to  whom  shall  he  turn  ?  To  public 
opinion  ?  That  is  the  opinion  of  the  majorit3\ 
To  the  legislative  officials  ?  They  are  nominated 
by  the  majority  and  obey  it  blindly.  To  the 
executive  power  ?  That  is  chosen  by  the  majority 
and  serves  it  as  a  passive  instrument.  To  the 
military  forces  of  the  State  ?  They  are  simply 
the  majorit3^  under  arms.  To  juries  ?  They  are 
formed  b}'  a  majority  which  possesses  the  right  to 
judge."  De  Tocqueville  goes  on  to  sa}'  that  the 
happiness  of  the  majority  which  consists  in  main- 
taining its  rights  deserves  recognition,  and  that  it 
is  better  for  a  minority  to  suffer  from  pressure  than 
a  majorit}',  but  the  sufferings  which  an  intelligent 
minority  suffer  from  an  unintelligent  majority 
are  much  greater  than  those  which  an  intelligent 
minority  inflict  upon  a  majorit3\  On  the  other 
hand,  the  minoritj'  understands  much  better  than 
the  majorit}'  what  conduces  to  their  own  and  the 
general  happiness,  and  therefore  the  t3Tann3'  of  the 
minority  is  not  to  be  compared  with  that  of  the 
majorit3^ 

"  Yes,  but,"  thought  John,  "  did  not  the  European 
peoples  generall3^  suffer  from  the  t3Tann3^  of  a 
minorit3"  ?  "  The  mere  fact  that  there  were  upper 
classes  la3'  like  a  heav3'  cloud  on  the  life  of  the  masses. 
Nowadavs  the  question  ma3'  be  raised,  "  Why 
should    a    different    class-education    result    in    an 


THE   RED   ROOM  223 

intelligent  minoritj-  and  an  unintelligent  majoritj'  ?  " 
But  such  questions  were  not  raised  then.  Moreover 
had  such  a  state  really  ever  been  seen  in  which  an 
intelligent  minority  had  the  power  to  "  oppress  "  ? 
No,  for  sovereigns,  ministers  and  parliaments  had 
usuall}^  the  due  modicum  of  intelligence. 

That  which  more  than  anything  else  inclined 
John  to  fear  the  power  of  the  masses,  was  the  fact 
noted  by  De  Toe  que  ville  that  the}^  tyrannised  over 
freedom  of  thought. 

"  When  one  tries  to  ascertain,"  he  says,  "  how 
much  freedom  of  thought  there  is  in  the  United 
States  it  becomes  apparent  how  much  the  tj^ranny 
of  the  masses  transcends  any  despotism  known  to 
Europe.  I  Imow  no  country  where  there  is,  generally 
speaking,  less  independence  of  opinion  and  real 
freedom  of  discussion  than  America.  The  majority 
draw  a  terribl}-  narrow  circle  round  all  thought. 
Within  that  circle  an  author  may  saj'  what  he  likes, 
but  woe  to  him  if  he  step  across  the  limit.  He  has 
no  auio-da-fé  to  fear,  but  he  is  made  the  mark  for 
all  kinds  of  unpleasantness  and  daily  persecutions. 
Every  good  quality  is  denied  him,  even  honour. 
Before  he  published  his  views,  he  thought  he  had 
adherents ;  after  he  has  made  them  Imown  to  all 
the  world  he  sees  that  he  no  longer  has  any,  for  his 
critics  have  raised  an  outcry,  and  those  who  thought 
as  he  did,  but  lacked  the  courage  to  express  them- 
selves, are  silent  and  withdraw'.  He  gives  waj^ ; 
he  finally  collapses  under  the  strain  of  daily  renewed 
effort,  and  resumes  silence,  as  though  he  regretted 
having  spoken  the  truth. 


224  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

"  In  democratic  republics,  tyranni'  lets  the  body 
alone  and  attacks  the  soul.  In  them  the  dominant 
power  does  not  say,  '  You  must  think  as  I  do,  or 
die ;  '  it  says,  '  You  are  free  to  differ  from  me  in 
opinion ;  3'our  life  and  property  will  remain  un- 
touched, but  from  the  day  that  j'ou  express  a  differ- 
ent view  from  mine,  j^ou  will  be  a  stranger  among 
us.  You  will  retain  your  rights  and  privileges  as 
a  citizen,  but  the}-  will  be  useless  to  j'ou.  You  ^\^ll 
remain  among  men,  but  be  deprived  of  all  a  man's 
rights.  Wlien  j'ou  approach  your  equals  thej'  will 
flee  3^ou  as  though  you  were  a  leper ;  even  those 
who  believe  in  your  innocence  will  abandon  you, 
lest  they  should  be  themselves  abandoned.  Go 
in  peace  !  I  grant  3'ou  life,  but  a  life  which  shall 
be  harder  and  bitterer  than  death  !  '  " 

That  is  the  true  and  credible  picture  which  the 
noble  De  Toe  que  ville,  friend  of  the  people  and 
tyrant-hater  as  he  was,  has  dra\Mi  of  the  tyranny 
of  the  masses,  those  masses  whose  feet  John  had 
felt  trampling  on  him  at  home,  at  school,  in  the 
steamer  and  the  theatre,  those  masses  whom  he 
had  satirised  in  the  play  Sinking  Hellas,  and  whom 
he  had  described  as  throwing  the  first  stone  at 
Olaus  Petri  just  at  the  moment  when  he  was  preach- 
ing to  them  of  freedom  !  If  it  is  thus  in  America, 
how  can  one  expect  anything  better  in  Europe. 
He  found  himself  in  a  cul-de-sac.  His  hereditary 
disposition  prevented  his  becoming  an  aristocrat, 
nor  could  he  come  to  terms  with  the  people.  Had 
he  not  himself  suffered  latelv  from  an  ignorant 
theatre-management    behind   which   stood   the   un- 


THE   RED   ROOM  225 

cultivated  public,  and  found  the  way  blocked  for 
his  new  and  liberal  ideas.  There  was  then  already 
a  mob-despotism  in  Sweden,  and  the  director  of 
the  Theatre  Royal  was  only  their  servant. 

It  was  all  absurdity  !  And  even  suppose  society 
were  ruled  by  those  who  knew  most.  Then  they 
Avould  be  under  professors  with  their  heads  full 
of  antiquarian  ideas.  Even  if  the  director  had  put 
his  drama  on  the  stage,  it  would  have  certainly 
been  hissed  off  by  the  tradesmen  in  the  stalls,  and 
no  critics  could  have  helped  him  ! 

His  thoughts  struggled  like  fishes  in  a  net,  and 
ended  by  being  caught.  It  was  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  thinking  about  and  he  tried  to  banish 
the  thought,  but  could  not.  He  felt  a  continual 
trouble  and  despair  in  his  mind  that  the  world  was 
going  idiotically,  majestically  and  unalterably  to 
the  devil.  "  Unalterably,"  he  thought,  for  as  yet 
a  large  number  of  strong  minds  had  not  attacked 
the  problem,  which  was  soluble  after  all.  Ten  years 
later  it  Ava«  provisionall}^  solved,  when  knowledge 
on  the  subject  of  this  sphinx-riddle  had  been  so 
widely  spread  that  even  a  workman  had  obtained 
some  insight  into  it,  and  in  a  public  meeting  had 
declared  that  equality  was  impossible,  for  the  block- 
heads could  not  be  equal  to  the  sharp-sighted, 
and  that  the  utmost  one  could  demand  was  equality 
of  position.  This  workman  was  more  of  an  aris- 
tocrat than  John  dared  to  be  in  the  year  1872, 
though  he  belonged  to  no  party  which  claimed  the 
right  to  muzzle  him. 

Prévobt-Paradol  had  dealt  with  the  same  theme 
Q 


226  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

as  Tocqueville,  but  ho  suggested  a  secret  device 
against  the  tyranny  of  the  masses — the  cumulative 
vote  or  the  privilege  of  A^riting  the  same  name 
several  times  on  the  ballot-paper.  But  John 
considered  this  method,  which  had  been  tried  in 
England,  doubtful. 

He  had  set  great  hopes  on  his  drama,  and  borrowed 
money  on  the  strength  of  them,  and  now  felt  much 
depressed.  The  disproportion  between  his  fancied 
and  his  real  value  galled  him.  Noav  he  had  to 
adopt  a  role,  learn  it,  and  carry  it  out.  He  com- 
posed one  for  himself,  consisting  of  the  sceptic,  the 
materialist  and  the  liar,  and  found  that  it  suited 
him  excellently.  This  was  for  the  simple  reason 
that  it  was  a  sceptical  and  materialistic  period, 
and  because  he  had  unconsciously  developed  into 
a  man  of  his  time.  But  he  still  believed  that  his 
earlier  discarded  personality,  ruled  mdeed  by  wild 
passions,  but  cherishing  ideals  of  a  higher  calling,  love 
to  mankind  and  similar  imaginations,  was  his  true 
and  better  self  which  he  hid  from  the  world.  All 
men  make  similar  mistakes  when  they  value  sickly 
sentimentality  above  strong  thought,  when  they 
look  back  to  their  youth  and  think  they  were  purer 
and  more  virtuous  then,  Avhich  is  certainly  untrue. 
The  world  calls  the  weaker  side  of  men  their  "  better 
self,"  because  this  weakness  is  more  advantageous 
for  the  Avorld  and  self-interest  seems  to  dictate  its 
judgment.  Jolm  found  that  in  his  new  role  he 
was  freed  from  all  possible  prejudices — religious, 
social,  political  and  moral.  He  had  only  one 
opinion, — that   everything    was   absurd,   only   one 


THE   RED    ROOM  227 

conviction, — that  nothing  could  be  done  at  present, 
and  only  one  hope, — that  the  time  would  come 
when  one  might  effectively  intervene,  and  when 
there  would  be  improvement.  But  from  that  time 
he  altogether  gave  up  reading  newspapers.  To 
hear  stupidity  praised,  selfish  acts  lauded  as  phil- 
anthropic, and  reason  blasjjliemed, — that  was  too 
much  for  a  fanatical  sceptic.  Sometimes,  however, 
he  thought  that  the  majority  were  right  in  just 
being  at  the  point  of  view  where  they  were,  and 
that  it  was  unnecessary  that  some  few  individuals, 
because  of  a  specialised  education,  should  run  far 
ahead  of  the  rest.  In  quiet  moments  he  recognised 
that  his  mental  development  which  had  taken  place 
so  rapidly,  without  his  ever  seeing  an  idea  realised, 
could  be  a  pattern  for  such  a  slowly-working  machine 
as  society  is.  Why  did  he  run  so  far  ahead  ?  It  was 
not  the  fault  of  the  school  or  university,  for  they 
had  held  him  back  equally  with  the  majority. 

Yes,  but  those  already  out  in  the  world,  by  their 
own  hearths,  had  already  reached  the  stage  of 
Buckle's  scepticism  as  regards  the  social  order,  so 
that  he  was  not  so  far  ahead  after  all.  The  slow 
rate  of  progress  was  enough  to  make  one  despair. 
What  Schiller's  Karl  Moor  had  seen  a  hundred  years 
previously,  what  the  French  Revolution  had  actually 
brought  about  were  now  regarded  as  brand-new 
ideas.  After  the  Revolution,  social  development 
had  gone  backwards ;  religious  superstitions  were 
revived,  belief  in  a  better  state  of  things  lost,  and 
economic  and  industrial  progress  was  accompanied 
by  sweating  and  terrible  poverty.     It  was  absurd  1 


228  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

All  minds  that  were  aAvake  at  all  had  to  suffer, — 
suffer  like  every  living  organism  when  hindered  in 
growth  and  pressed  backward.  The  century  had 
been  inaugurated  by  the  destruction  of  hopes,  and 
nothing  has  such  a  paralysing  effect  on  the  soul 
as  disappointed  hope,  which,  as  statistics  show,  is 
one  of  the  most  frequent  causes  of  madness.  There- 
fore all  great  spirits  were,  vulgarly  speaking,  mad. 
Chateaubriand  was  a  hypochondriac,  Musset  a 
lunatic,  Victor  Hugo  a  maniac.  The  automatic 
pygmies  of  everyday  life  cannot  realise  what  such 
suffering  means,  and  yet  believe  themselves  capable 
of  judging  in  the  matter. 

The  ancient  poet  is  psychologically  correct  in 
representing  Prometheus  as  having  his  liver  gnawed 
by  a  vulture.  Prometheus  was  the  revolutionary 
who  wished  to  spread  mental  illumination  among 
men.  Whether  he  did  it  from  altruistic  motives, 
or  from  the  selfish  one  of  wishing  to  breathe  a  purer 
mental  atmosphere,  may  be  left  undecided.  Jolm, 
who  felt  akin  to  this  rebel,  was  aware  of  a  pain  which 
resembled  anxiety,  and  a  perpetual  boring  *'  tooth- 
ache in  the  liver."  Was  Prometheus  then  a  liver- 
patient  who  confusedly  ascribed  his  pain  to  causes 
outside  himself  ?  Probably  not  !  But  he  was 
certainly  embittered  when  he  saw  that  the  world 
is  a  lunatic  asylum  in  which  the  idiots  go  about  as 
they  like,  and  the  few  who  preserve  reason  are 
watched  as  though  dangerous  to  the  public  safet3\ 
Attacks  of  illness  can  certainl}'  colour  men's  vieAvs, 
and  every  one  well  knows  how  gloomy  our  thoughts 
are  Avhen  Ave  have  attacks  of  fever.     But  patients 


THE   RED   ROOM  229 

Buch  as  Samuel  Oedmann  or  Olaf  Eneroth  were 
neither  sulky  nor  bitter,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
mild,  perhaps  languid  from  want  of  strength.  Vol- 
taire, who  was  never  well,  had  an  imperturbably 
good  temper.  And  Musset  did  not  write  as  he  did 
because  he  drank  absinthe,  but  he  drank  from  the 
same  cause  that  he  wrote  in  that  manner,  i.  e.  from 
despair.  Therefore  it  is  not  in  good  faith  that 
idealists  who  deny  the  existence  of  the  body,  ascribe 
the  discontent  of  many  authors  to  causes  such  as 
indigestion,  etc.,  the  supposition  of  which  contradicts 
their  own  principles,  but  it  must  be  against  their 
better  Imowledge,  or  with  worse  knowledge.  Kierke- 
gaard's gloomy  way  of  writing  can  be  ascribed  to  an 
absurd  education,  unfortunate  family  relations, 
dreary  social  surroundings,  and  alongside  of  these 
to  some  organic  defects,  but  not  to  the  latter  alone. 

Discontent  with  the  existing  state  of  things  will 
alwaj's  assert  itself  among  those  who  are  in  process 
of  development,  and  discontent  has  pushed  the 
world  forwards,  while  content  has  pushed  it  back. 
Content  is  a  virtue  born  of  necessit}^  hopelessness 
or  superfluity ;  it  can  be  cancelled  with  impunity. 

Catarrh  of  the  stomach  may  cause  ill  temper, 
but  it  has  never  produced  a  great  politician,  i.  e. 
a  great  malcontent.  But  sickliness  may  impart 
to  a  malcontent's  energy  a  stronger  colour  and 
greater  rapidity,  and  therefore  cannot  be  denied  a 
certain  influence.  On  the  other  hand,  a  conscious 
insight  into  grievances  can  produce  such  a  degree 
of  mental  annoj^ance  as  can  result  in  siclmess. 
The  loss  of  dear  friends  through  death,  may  in  this 


230  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

way  cause  consumption,  and  the  loss  of  a  social 
position  or  of  propert}',  madness. 

If  ever}'  modern  individual  shows  a  geological 
stratification  of  the  stages  of  development  through 
which  his  ancestors  passed,  so  in  every  European 
mind  are  found  traces  of  the  primitive  Aryan, — 
class-feeling,  fixed  family  ideas,  religious  motives, 
etc.  From  the  early  Christians  \^e  have  the  idea 
of  equality,  love  to  our  neighbour,  contempt  for 
mere  earthly  life  ;'  from  the  mediaeval  monks,  self- 
castigation  and  hopes  of  heaven.  Besides  these, 
we  inherit  traits  from  the  sensuous  cultured  pagans 
of  the  Renaissance,  the  religious  and  political 
fanatics  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  sceptics  of 
the  "illumination"  period,  and  the  anarchists  of 
the  Revolution.  Education  should  therefore  con- 
sist in  the  obliteration  of  old  stains  which  continually 
reappear  however  often  we  polish  them  away. 

John  proceeded  to  obliterate  the  monk,  the 
fanatic  and  the  self-tormentor  in  himself  as  well 
as  he  could,  and  took  as  the  leading  principle  of  his 
provisional  life  (for  it  was  only  provisional  till  ho 
struck  out  a  course  for  himself)  the  well-understood 
one  of  personal  advantage,  which  is  actually,  though 
unconsciously,  employed  by  all,  to  whatever  creed 
they  belong. 

He  did  not  transgress  the  ordinary  laws,  because 
he  did  not  wish  to  appear  in  a  court  of  justice ; 
he  encroached  on  no  one's  rights  because  he  wished 
his  own  not  to  be  encroached  upon.  He  met 
men  sympathetically,  for  ho  did  not  hate  them, 
nor  did  he  study  tliem  critically  till  they  had  broken 


THE   RED   ROOM  231 

their  promises  and  shown  a  want  of  sympathy  to 
him.  He  justified  them  all  so  long  as  he  could, 
and  when  he  could  not,  well, — he  could  not,  but 
he  tried  by  working  to  place  himself  in  a  position 
to  be  able  to  do  so.  He  regarded  his  talent  as  a 
capital  sum,  which,  although  at  present  it  3'ielded 
no  interest,  gave  him  the  right  and  imposed  on 
him  the  duty  to  live  at  any  price.  He  was  not  the 
kind  of  man  to  force  his  way  into  societj^  in  order 
to  exploit  it  for  his  own  purposes,  he  was  simplj- 
a  man  of  capacity  conscious  of  his  own  powers,  who 
placed  himself  at  the  disposal  of  society  modestly, 
and  in  the  first  place  to  be  used  as  a  dramatist. 
The  theatre,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  needed  him  to 
contribute  to  its  Swedish  repertory. 

After  a  solitarj^  day's  work,  it  was  his  habit  to  go 
to  a  cafe  to  meet  his  acquaintances  there.  To  seek 
"  more  elevated  "  recreations  in  family  circles 
such  as  meaningless  gossip,  card  playing  and  such 
like  had  no  attraction  for  him.  Whenever  he 
entered  a  family  circle  he  felt  himself  surrounded 
by  a  musty  atmosphere  like  that  exhaled  from 
stagnant  water.  Married  couples  who  had  been 
badgering  each  other,  were  glad  to  welcome  him 
as  a  sort  of  lightning  conductor,  but  he  had  no 
pleasure  in  plaj'ing  that  part.  Family  life  appeared 
to  him  as  a  prison  in  which  two  captives 
spied  on  each  other,  as  a  place  in  which  children 
were  tormented,  and  servant-girls  quarrelled.  It 
was  something  nasty  from  which  he  ran  away  to 
the  restaurants.  In  them  there  was  a  public  room 
where  no  one  was  guest  and  no  one  was  host  :  one 


232  THE   GROWTH  OF  A   SOUL 

enjoyed  plenty  of  space  and  light,  heard  music, 
saw  people  and  met  friends,  John  and  his  friends 
were  accustomed  to  meet  in  a  back  room  of  Bern's 
great  restaurant  which,  because  of  the  colour  of 
the  furniture,  was  called  the  "  red  room."  The 
little  club  consisted  originally  of  John  and  a  few 
artistic  and  philosophical  friends.  But  their  circle 
was  soon  enlarged  hy  old  friends  whom  they  met 
again.  They  were  first  of  all  recruited  bj^  the 
presentable  former  scholars  of  the  Clara  School, — 
a  postal  clerk  who  was  at  the  same  time  a  bass 
singer,  pianist  and  composer ;  a  secretarj^  of  the 
Court  treasurer  ;  and  the  trump  card  of  the  society, — 
a  lieutenant  of  artillerj-.  To  these  were  added 
later,  the  composer's  indispensable  friend,  a  litho- 
grapher, who  published  his  music,  and  a  notary  who 
sang  his  compositions.  The  club  was  not  homo- 
geneous, but  they  soon  managed  to  shake  down 
together. 

But  since  the  laymen  had  no  wish  to  hear  dis- 
cussions on  art,  literature  and  philosophy,  their 
conversations  were  only  on  general  subjects.  John, 
who  did  not  wish  to  discuss  anj'^  more  problems, 
adopted  a  sceptical  tone,  and  baffled  all  attempts 
at  discussion  by  a  play  upon  words,  a  quibble  or  a 
question.  His  ultimate  "why?"  behind  every 
penultimate  assertion  threw  a  light  on  the  too-sure 
conclusions  of  stupiditj^,  and  let  his  hearer  surmise 
that  behind  the  usually  accepted  commonplaces 
there  were  possibilities  of  truths  stretching  out  in 
endless  perspective.  These  views  of  his  must  have 
germinated  like  seeds  in  most  of  their  brains,  for  in 


THE   RED   ROOM  233 

a  short  time  they  were  all  sceptics,  and  began  to 
use  a  special  language  of  their  own.  This  health}^ 
scepticism  in  the  infallibilit}-  of  each  other's  judg- 
ments had,  as  a  natural  consequence,  a  brutal 
sincerity  of  speech  and  thought.  It  was  of  no 
use  to  speak  of  one's  feelings  as  though  they  were 
praiseworthy,  for  one  was  cut  short  with  "  Are  you 
sentimental,  poor  devil  ?     Take  bi-carbonate." 

If  an}^  one  complained  of  toothache,  all  he  received 
bj''  way  of  answer  was,  "  That  does  not  rouse  my 
sympath}^  at  all,  for  I  have  never  had  toothache, 
and  it  has  no  effect  upon  my  resolve  to  give  a 
supper." 

They  were  disciples  of  Helvetius  in  believing  that 
one  must  regard  egotism  as  the  mainspring  of  all 
human  actions,  and  therefore  it  was  no  use  pre- 
tending to  finer  emotions.  To  borrow  money  or 
to  get  goods  on  credit  without  being  certain  of  being 
able  to  paj^  was  rightly  regarded  as  cheating,  and 
so  designated.  For  instance,  if  a  member  of  the 
club  appeared  in  a  new  overcoat  which  seemed  to 
have  been  obtained  on  credit,  he  was  asked  in  a 
friendly  way,  "  Whom  have  you  cheated  about 
that  coat  ?  "  Or  on  another  occasion  another 
would  say,  "  To-day  I  have  done  Samuel  out  of  a 
new  suit." 

Nevertheless,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  both  overcoat 
and  suit  were  generally  paid  for,  but  as  the  purchaser 
at  the  time  he  took  them  was  not  sure  whether  he 
would  be  able  to  pay,  he  regarded  himself  as  a 
potential  swindler.  This  was  severe  morality  and 
stern  self-criticism, 


234  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

Once  during  such  a  conversation  the  Heutenant 
got  up  to  go  and  attend  church-parade  Mith  his 
compan3\  "  Where  are  3'ou  going  ?  "  he  was  asked. 
"  To  play  the  hypocrite,"  he  answered  truthfully. 

This  tone  of  sincerity  sometimes  assumed  the 
character  of  a  deep  understanding  of  human  nature 
and  the  nature  of  society.  One  day  the  company 
were  leaving  John's  lodgings  for  the  restaurant. 
It  was  winter,  and  Måns,  who  was  generally  ill- 
dressed,  had  no  overcoat.  The  lieutenant,  who 
wore  his  uniform,  was,  it  is  true,  somewhat  uneasj^, 
but  did  not  wish  to  hurt  an 3^  one's  feelings  that  day. 
When  John  opened  the  door  to  go  out,  Mfms  said, 
"Go  in  front ;  I  will  come  afterwards ;  I  do  not 
want  Jean  to  injure  his  position  by  going  with 
me." 

John  offered  to  walk  with  Måns  one  way  while 
the  others  should  go  by  another,  but  Jean  exclaimed, 
"  Ah  !  don't  pretend  to  be  noble-minded  !  j'ou  feel 
as  embarrassed  at  going  with  Måns  as  I  do." 

"  True,"  replied  Jolm,  "  but  .  .  ." 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  play  the  hypocrite  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  play  the  hypocrite ;  I  only  wished  to 
try  to  be  free  from  prejudice." 

"  The  deuce  !  what  is  the  good  of  being  free  from 
prejudice  when  no  one  else  is,  and  it  does  you  harm? 
It  would  really  show  more  freedom  from  prejudice 
to  tell  Måns  your  mind  than  to  deceive  him." 

Måns  had  already  departed,  and  arrived  about 
the  same  time  at  the  restaurant  as  they  did.  He 
took  part  in  the  meal  without  betra5nng  a  trace 
of  ill-humour.     "  Your  health,  Måns,  because  you 


THE   RED   ROOM  235 

are  a  man  of  sense,"  said  the  lieutenant  to  cheer 
him  up. 

The  habit  of  speaking  out  one's  inner  thoughts 
without  any  regard  to  current  opinion,  resulted 
in  the  overthrow  of  all  traditional  verdicts.  The 
terrible  confusion  of  thought  in  which  men  live, 
since  freedom  of  thought  has  been  fettered  b}^  com- 
pulsory regulations,  has  made  it  possible  for  anti- 
quated views  of  men  and  things  to  continue.  Thus, 
to-day  a  number  of  works  of  art  are  considered 
unsurpassable  in  spite  of  the  great  progress  made 
in  teclmique  and  artistic  conception.  John  con- 
sidered that  if  in  the  nineteenth  century  he  was 
to  give  his  views  on  Shakespeare,  he  was  not  at  all 
bound  to  give  the  opinion  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
but  of  his  own  nineteenth,  as  it  had  been  modified 
by  new  points  of  view.  This  aroused  a  great  deal 
of  opposition,  perhaps  because  people  fear  being 
regarded  as  uncultivated  a  great  deal  more  than 
the}'  fear  being  regarded  as  godless. 

Ever}'  one  attacked  Christ,  for  He  was  thought 
to  have  been  overthrowii  by  learned  criticism,  but 
they  were  afraid  of  attacking  Shakespeare.  John, 
however,  was  not.  Thoroughly  understanding  the 
works  of  the  poet,  whose  most  important  dramas 
he  had  read  in  the  original  and  whose  chief  com- 
mentators he  had  studied,  he  criticised  the  com- 
position and  meagre  character  drawing  of  Hamlet. 
It  is  noteworth}'  that  the  Swedish  Shakespeare- 
worshipper,  Shuck,  through  an  inconsistenc}'  due 
to  the  current  confusion  of  thought  and  compulsory 
cowardice,  made  just  as  severe  criticisms  of  Hamlet 


236  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

regarded  as  a  wark  of  art,  though  he  had  previously 
extolled  it  above  the  skies.  If  Joliii  had  at  that 
time  been  able  to  read  the  book  of  Professor  Shuck, 
he  would  not  have  needed  courage  in  order  to 
subscribe  such  criticisms  as  the  following  :  "  Hamlet 
is  the  most  unsatisfactorj^  of  all  .  .  .  the  composi- 
tion is  superficial  and  incoherent.  After  the  action 
of  the  play  has  reached  its  climax,  it  suddenly  breaks 
off.  Hamlet  is  suddenly  sent  to  England,  but  this 
journey  does  not  in  any  way  arouse  the  specta- 
tor's interest.  Still  worse  is  the  management  of 
the  catastrophe.  It  is  a  mere  chance  that  Hamlet's 
revenge  is  executed  at  all,  and  a  similar  caprice  of 
chance  causes  his  overthrow.  His  killing  Claudius 
just  before  his  own  death  has  more  the  appearance 
of  revenge  for  the  attempt  on  his  own  life,  than 
that  of  a  judgment  executed  in  the  name  of  injured 
moralit3^" 

And  then  the  obscuritj''  which  envelops  the 
motives  of  the  principal  persons  in  the  play  !  "  The 
spectator  is  left  in  uncertainty  regarding  such  an 
important  point  as  Ophelia's  and  Hamlet's  madness. 
Moreover  in  Kiiig  Lear,  Edward's  treachery  is  so 
palpable  that  not  the  most  ordinarily  intelligent 
man  could  have  been  deceived  by  it  !  " 

If  then  the  drama  was  defective  precisely  in  the 
chief  elements  of  a  drama,  construction  and  char- 
acterisation, how  could  it  be  incomparable  ?  The 
reverence  for  what  is  ancient  and  celebrated  is 
rooted  in  the  same  instinct  which  creates  gods ; 
and  pulling  down  the  ancient  has  the  same  effect 
as  attacking  the  divine.     Why  else  should  a  sensible 


THE   RED   ROOM  237 

unprejudiced  man  fly  in  a  rago  when  he  hears 
some  one  express  a  different  opinion  to  his  own 
(or  what  he  thinks  his  own)  about  some  old  classic  ? 
It  ought  to  be  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him. 
The  national  and  intellectual  Pantheon  can  be 
as  angrily  defended  by  atheists  as  by  monotheists, 
perhaps  more  so.  People  who  are  otherwise  sincere, 
cringe  before  a  A\'ell-established  reputation,  and 
John  had  heard  a  pietistic  clergyman  say  that 
Shakespeare  was  a  "  pure  "  writer.  In  his  mouth 
that  was  certainly  false.  A  determinist,  on  the 
other  hand,  would  not  have  used  the  words  "  pure  " 
or  "  impure  "  because  they  would  have  been  mean- 
ingless to  him.  But  the  poor  Christ-worshipper 
did  not  dare  to  bear  a  cross  for  Shakespeare ;  he 
had  enough  already  to  bear  for  his  own  Master. 

Meanwhile  John's  method  of  judging  old  things 
from  the  modern  point  of  view  seemed  to  be  justified, 
for  it  gained  him  a  following.  That  was  the  whole 
secret  of  what  was  so  little  understood  later  on  by 
theistic  and  atheistic  theologians — his  irreverent 
handling  of  ancient  things  and  persons  ;  they  thought 
in  their  simplicity  quite  innocently  that  it  was 
what  one  calls  in  children  a  spirit  of  contradic- 
tion. His  aim  rather  was  to  bring  people's  confused 
ideas  into  order,  and  to  teach  them  to  apply  logically 
their  materialistic  point  of  view.  If  they  were 
materialists,  they  should  not  borrow  phrases  from 
Christianity,  nor  think  like  idealists.  This  gave 
rise  to  a  catchword,  which  showed  how  what  was 
ancient  was  despised — "  That  is  old  !  "  As  new 
men,    they    must    think    new    thoughts,    and   new 


238  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

thoughts  demanded  a  new  phraseology.  Anecdotes 
and  old  jokes  were  done  away  with ;  stereotj'ped 
phrases  and  borrowed  expressions  were  suppressed. 
One  might  be  plain-spoken  and  call  things  by  their 
right  names,  but  one  might  not  be  vulgar ;  the  latest 
opera  was  not  to  be  quoted,  nor  jokes  from  the 
newest  comic  paper  repeated.  Thereby  each  be- 
came accustomed  to  produce  something  from  his 
0"WTi  stock  of  original  observation  and  acquired 
the  faculty  of  judging  from  a  fresh  point  of  view. 

Jolui  had  discovered  that  men  in  general  were 
automata.  All  thought  the  same ;  all  judged  in 
the  same  fashion  ;  and  the  more  learned  they  Avere, 
the  less  independence  of  mind  they  displayed. 
This  made  him  doubt  the  whole  value  of  book 
education.  The  graduates  who  came  from  Upsala 
had,  one  and  all,  the  same  opinions  on  Rafael  and 
Schiller,  though  the  differences  in  their  characters 
would  have  led  one  to  expect  a  corresponding 
difference  in  their  judgments.  Therefore  these 
men  did  not  think,  although  they  called  themselves 
free-thinkers,  but  merely  talked  and  were  merely 
parrots. 

But  John  could  not  perceive  that  it  was  not  books 
qud  books  which  had  turned  these  learned  men 
into  automata.  Ho  himself  and  his  unlearned 
philosophical  friends  had  been  aroused  to  self- 
consciousness  through  books.  The  danger  of  the 
university  education  was  that  it  was  derived  from 
inferior  books  published  under  sanction  of  the 
government,  and  written  by  the  upper  classes  in 
the  interest  of  the  upper  classes,  i.  e.  with  the  object 


THE   RED   ROOM  239 

of  exalting  what  was  old  and  established,  and 
therefore  of  hindering  further  development. 

Meanwhile  Jolin's  scepticism  had  made  him  sterile. 
He  had  perceived  that  art  had  nothing  to  do  with 
social  development,  that  it  was  simply  a  reflection 
or  phenomena,  and  was  more  perfect  as  art  the 
more  it  confined  itself  to  this  function.  He  still 
preserved  the  impulse  to  re-mould  things  and  it 
found  expression  in  his  painting.  His  poetic  art, 
on  the  other  hand,  went  to  pieces  since  it  had  to 
express  thoughts  or  serve  a  purpose. 

His  failure  to  have  his  play  accepted  had  an 
adverse  effect  on  his  pecuniary  circumstances.  The 
friends  from  whom  he  had  borrowed  money  came 
one  evening  to  John's  rooms  in  order  to  hear  the 
play  read,  but  they  were  so  tired  after  the  day's 
work  that,  after  hearing  the  first  act,  they  asked 
him  to  put  off  the  rest  for  another  occasion.  One 
of  the  audience  who  had  kept  more  awake  than  the 
others  thought  that  there  were  too  many  Biblical 
quotations  in  the  piece,  and  that  these  were  not 
suitable  for  the  stage. 

John's  resources  were  dried  up,  and  the  spectre 
of  want  loomed  upon  him,  unbribeable  and  stone- 
deaf.  After  he  had  gone  without  his  dinners  for 
a  time,  he  began  to  feel  weary  of  life,  and  looked 
about  him  for  the  means  of  subsistence.  How 
should  he  get  bread  in  the  wilderness  ?  The  best 
means  that  suggested  itself  was  to  seek  an  engage- 
ment in  a  provincial  theatre.  There  mere  nobodies 
often  plaj^ed  leading  roles  in  tragedies,  made  them- 
selves a  name,  and  finished  by  getting  an  appoint- 


240  THE   GROWTH   OF  A   SOUL 

ment  at  the  Theatre  Royal.  He  quickly  made  his 
resolve,  packed  his  travelling  bag,  borrowed  money 
for  his  fare,  and  went  to  Göteborg.  It  was  just 
about  the  time  of  the  great  November  storm  of 
1872. 

Since  the  environment  in  which  he  had  been  living 
had  had  a  great  effect  on  him,  he  conceived  a  great 
dislike  to  this  toAvn.  Gloom}^  correct,  expensive, 
proud,  reserved  it  lay,  pent  in  its  circle  of  stone 
hills,  and  depressed  the  lively  native  of  Upper 
Sweden,  accustomed  to  the  rich  and  smiling  land- 
scape of  Stockholm.  It  was  a  copy  of  the  capital 
but  on  a  small  scale,  and  John,  as  one  of  the  upper 
class,  felt  alienated  from  its  inhabitants,  who  were 
in  a  lower  stage  of  development.  But  he  noticed 
that  there  was  something  here  that  was  wanting 
in  the  capital.  \^Tien  he  went  down  to  the  harbour 
he  saw  ships  which  were  nearly  all  destined  for 
foreign  parts,  and  large  vessels  kept  up  continual 
communication  with  the  continent.  The  people 
and  buildings  did  not  look  so  exclusively  Swedish, 
the  papers  took  more  account  of  the  great  move- 
ments A\'hich  were  going  on  in  the  Avorld.  What  a 
short  way  it  was  from  here  to  Copenhagen,  Christi- 
ania,  London,  Hamburg,  Havre  !  Stockholm  should 
have  been  situated  here  in  a  harbour  of  the  North 
Sea,  whereas  it  lay  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  Baltic. 
Here  was  in  truth  the  nucleus  of  a  new  centre,  and 
he  now  understood  that  that  position  was  no  longer 
occupied  by  Stockholm,  but  that  Göteborg  was 
about  to  be  the  centre  of  the  north.  At  present, 
however,   this  reflection   had  no   comfort  for  him 


THE   RED   ROOM  241 

since  he  was  only  in  the  insignificant  position  of 
an  actor. 

John  sought  out  the  theatre-director  and  intro- 
duced himself  as  a  person  who  wished  to  do  the 
theatre  a  service.  The  director,  however,  con- 
sidered himself  very  well  served  by  his  present  staff. 
But  he  allowed  John  to  give  a  trial  performance  in 
the  role  in  which  he  wished  to  make  his  debut.  This 
was  Dielrichson's  Workman,  the  great  success  of 
the  day.  John  had  discovered  a  certain  likeness 
between  Stephenson's  first  locomotive  and  his 
rejected  play ;  he  Avished  to  show  how  he,  like  the 
engineer,  had  to  face  the  ridicule  of  the  ignorant 
crowd,  the  apprehensions  of  the  learned,  and  the 
fears  of  a  wasted  life  on  the  part  of  relatives.  He 
gave  his  trial  performance  one  evening  by  the  light 
of  a  candle  and  between  bare  walls.  Naturally 
he  felt  hampered  and  asked  to  repeat  it  in  costume. 
But  the  director  said  it  was  not  necessary ;  he  had 
heard  enough.  John,  in  his  opinion,  possessed 
talent,  but  it  was  undeveloped.  He  offered  him 
an  engagement  at  twelve  hundred  kronas  yearly, 
to  commence  from  the  first  of  January.  John 
considered  :  Should  he  spend  two  months  idly  in 
Göteborg  and  then  only  have  a  supernumerary's 
part  in  a  provincial  theatre  ?  No  !  He  would  not  ! 
What  remained  to  be  done  ?  Nothing  except  to 
borrow  money  and  return  home,  which  he  did. 

Thus  his  efforts  had  again  ended  in  failure.  His 
friends  had  given  him  a  farewell  feast,  lent  him 
journey  money,  done  all  they  could  to  help  him, 
and   now   he   came    back   without   having   settled 

R 


242  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

anything.  Again  he  had  to  hear  the  old  too  true 
accusation  that  he  was  unstable.  To  be  unstable 
in  an  ordered  society  is  the  extreme  of  unpracticalitj^ 
There  persistent  and  exclusive  cultivation  of  some 
special  branch  of  industry  or  knowledge  is  necessary 
in  order  to  outstrip  competitors.  Every  orderly 
member  of  society  feels  a  certain  discomfort  when 
he  sees  some  one  wandering  from  his  proper  place. 
This  discomfort  does  not  necessarily  spring  from 
excessive  egotism,  but  possibly  from  a  feeling  of 
solidarity  and  solicitude  for  others.  John  saw 
that  his  countless  changes  of  plan  disquieted  his 
friends ;  he  felt  ashamed  and  suffered  on  account 
of  it,  but  could  not  act  otherwise. 

So  he  found  himself  at  home,  and  spent  the  long 
evenings  in  the  "  Red  Room,"  asking  himself 
whether  he  really  could  find  no  place  in  a  society 
which  for  others  opened  up  so  many  rich  possibilities 
of  a  career. 

At  Christmas  time  John  travelled  again  to  Upsala, 
for  he  had  been  invited  thither  as  one  of  the  con- 
tributors to  a  Literary  Calendar  which  had  just 
appeared.  The  Calendar,  which  was  received  with 
universal  disapprobation,  was  not  without  signifi- 
cance as  an  exponent  of  the  state  of  literature. 
The  reader  who  was  desired  to  wade  through  these 
elegant  extracts,  might  justifiably  ask,  "  What 
have  I  got  to  do  with  them  ?  "  The  poetry  they 
contained,  like  that  of  Snoilsky  and  Björck,  might 
have  been  written  fifty  or  a  hundred  years  before. 
It  was  of  indifi^ercnt  quality,  and  sometimes  even 
bad, — bad  because  it  gave  no  sign  that  the  poet 


THE   RED   ROOM  243 

had  developed  any  powers  of  perception,  indifferent 
because  it  was  not  rooted  in  its  own  period.  The 
date  of  the  book  was  1872,  but  it  contained  no  echo 
of  the  Jubilee  of  1865,  no  hint  of  1870,  not 
a  whiff  of  the  conflagration  of  1871.  Had  these 
young  versifiers  been  asleep  ?  Yes,  certainly.  The 
great  mass  of  students  were  realists,  sceptics, 
mockers,  as  befitted  the  children  of  the  time,  but 
the  poets  were  credulous  fools  with  the  ideals  of 
Snoilsky  and  Björck  in  their  hearts.  Their  poetry 
was  that  of  superannuated  idealists  in  form  and 
thought,  for  the  new  views  of  things  had  not  reached 
these  isolated  individualists  who  still  lived  the 
Bohemian  life  of  the  Romantics.  Their  poetry 
consisted  of  nothing  but  echoes.  In  fact  it  was  a 
question  Avhether  Swedish  poetry  had  hitherto  been 
anything  else,  or  could  be  anything  else.  Was 
Tegner's  poetry  anything  but  an  echo  of  Schiller, 
Oehlenschläger,  the  Eddas  and  the  old  Norse  sagas  ? 
Was  Atterbom  anything  else  than  a  musical  box 
pieced  together  out  of  Tieck,  Hoffmann,  Wieland, 
Biirger  ?  And  so  on  with  all  the  Swedish  poets. 
But  this  Literary  Calendar  was  composed  of  echoes 
of  echoes  and  dreams  of  dreams.  Realism,  which 
had  already  made  a  premature  entry  into  Sweden 
with  Kraemer's  Diamonds  in  Coal,  and  had  sub- 
sequently triumphed  in  Snoilsk}',  had  left  no  trace 
on  these  young  poets.  The  poetry  of  Snoilsky's 
school  had  been  the  careless  expression  of  a  careless 
time,  but  these  poems  simply  displayed  the  in- 
capacity of  their  writers. 

Jolm   had   contributed   to    the    Calendar   a   free 


244  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

version  of  "  An  Basveig's  Saga."  In  this  ho  had 
glorified  himself  as  a  kind  of  male  Cinderella,  or 
ugly  duckling  of  the  family.  He  was  moved  to  do 
this  by  the  contempt  which  had  been  evinced 
towards  him  by  his  patrons  and  middle-class  friends 
on  account  of  his  failure  as  an  author.  The  language 
of  the  piece  was  marked  by  a  certain  bluntness  of 
expression  and  an  attempt  to  dignify  low  things, 
or  at  least  to  rub  off  the  dirt  from  things  which  were 
not  really  so,  but  were  called  so.  Since  the  word 
Naturalism  had  not  yet  come  into  fashion,  his 
language  was  called  coarse  and  vulgar. 

But  an  acquaintance  which  John  happened  to 
make  during  his  stay  in  Upsala  was  of  greater  im- 
portance than  the  Calendar  or  Christmas  dinner. 
He  lodged  with  a  friend  on  whose  writing-table 
he  found  one  day  a  number  of  the  Svensk  Tidskrift 
containing  a  notice  of  Hartmann's  Philosophy  of 
the  Unconscious.  It  was  an  exposition  of  Hart- 
mann's system  by  a  Finn,  A.  V.  Bolin,  and  betrayed 
throughout  a  half -concealed  admiration  of  it.  But 
the  editor,  Hans  Forssell,  had  appended  to  the 
essay  a  note  written  in  his  usual  style  when  he 
came  across  something  that  his  brain  could  not 
take  in.  Hartmann's  doctrine  was  pessimism. 
Conscious  life  is  suffering  because  unconscious  will 
is  the  motive  power  of  evolution  and  consciousness 
obstructs  this  unconscious  will.  It  was  the  old  myth 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil.  It  was  the 
kernel  of  the  Buddhistic  faith  and  the  chief  doctrine 
of  Christianity, — "  Vanitas,  vanitatum  vanitas." 

Most  of  the  greatest  and  conscious  minds  had 


THE   RED   ROOM  245 

been  pessimists,  and  had  seen  through  and  unmasked 
the  illusions  of  life.  Only  wild  animals,  children, 
and  commonplace  people  could  therefore  be  happ^^, 
because  they  were  unconscious  of  the  illusion,  or 
because  they  held  their  ears  when  one  wanted  to 
tell  them  the  truth  and  begged  not  to  be  robbed 
of  their  illusions. 

John  found  all  this  quite  natural,  and  had  no 
important  objection  to  make.  It  was  true  then, 
what  he  had  so  often  dreamt,  that  everything  was 
nothing  !  It  was  the  suspicion  of  this  which  had 
governed  his  point  of  view  and  made  all  the  great 
and  all  greatness  appear  on  a  reduced  scale.  This 
consciousness  had  lurked  obscurely  in  him,  when, 
as  a  child,  although  well-formed,  healthy  and 
strong,  he  wept  over  an  unknown  grief,  the  cause 
of  which  he  could  not  find  within  him  or  without. 
That  was  the  secret  of  his  life,  that  he  could  not 
admire  anything,  could  not  hold  to  anything,  could 
not  live  for  anything ;  that  he  was  too  wide  awake 
to  be  subject  to  illusions.  Life  was  a  form  of 
suffering  which  could  only  be  alleviated  by  removing 
as  many  obstacles  as  possible  from  the  path  of 
one's  will ;  his  own  life  in  particular  was  so  extremely 
painful  because  his  social  and  economical  position 
constantly  prevented  his  will  from  expressing  itself. 

Wlien  he  contemplated  life  and  especially  the 
course  of  history  he  saw  only  cycles  of  errors  and 
mistakes   repeating  themselves  .^    The  men  of  the 

^  In  his  pamphlet  "  The  Conscious  Will  in  the  World- 
history '*  (1903),  Strindberg  takes  the  opposite  view  to  that 
expressed  here. 


246  THE   GROWTH   OF   A   SOUL 

present  dreamt  of  a  republic,  as  Greeks  and  Romans 
had  done  two  thousand  years  before  ;  the  civiHsation 
of  the  Egyptians  had  decayed  when  they  perceived 
its  futihty ;  Asia  was  wrapped  in  an  eternal  sleep 
after  it  had  been  impelled  bj''  an  unconscious  will 
to  conquer  the  world ;  all  nations  had  invented 
narcotics  and  intoxicants  in  order  to  quench  con- 
sciousness ;  sleep  was  blessedness  and  death  the 
greatest  happiness.  But  why  not  take  the  last 
step  and  commit  suicide  ?  Because  the  unconscious 
Will  continually  enticed  men  to  live  through  the 
illusion  of  hope  of  a  better  life.  Pessimism,  regarded 
as  a  view  of  the  world's  order,  is  more  consistent 
than  meliorism,  which  sees  in  natural  development 
a  tendency  which  makes  for  men's  happiness.  This 
latter  view  seems  to  be  a  disguised  relic  of  belief 
in  divine  providence.  Can  one  believe  that  the 
mechanical  blindly  ruling  laws  of  nature  have  any 
regard  for  the  development  of  human  society  when 
they  produce  glacial  periods,  floods,  and  volcanic 
outbreaks  ?  Must  an  intelligent  man  be  called 
"  conservative  "  in  a  contemptuous  sense  because 
he  has  brought  under  his  yoke  and  rules  the  laws 
of  nature  as  Stuart  Mill  facetiously  expresses  it  ? 
Have  men  devised  any  certain  preventives  against 
shipwreck,  strokes  of  lightning,  economic  crises, 
losses  of  relatives  by  death  and  sickness  ?  Can 
men  control  at  pleasure  the  inclination  of  the 
earth's  axis,  and  do  away  with  cloud-formations 
which  are  likely  to  injure  harvests  ?  In  spite  of 
the  present  advanced  state  of  science,  have  men 
been  able  to  put  an  end  to  the  grape  pest,  to  stop 


THE   RED   ROOM  247 

floods,  eradicate  superstitions,  remove  despots, 
prevent  war  ?  Is  it  not  presumptuous  or  simple- 
minded  to  believe  that  man,  himself  governed  by 
chemical,  ph3'sical,  and  ph^-siological  laws  of  nature, 
stands  above  them  because  he  understands  how  to 
use  some  of  them  to  his  own  advantage,  as  birds 
use  the  wind  for  their  progress  or  beavers  the  pres- 
sure of  the  stream  in  constructing  their  dams  ?  Are 
not  the  wings  of  the  falcon  and  the  fly  more  perfect 
means  of  locomotion  than  railways  and  steamers  ? 
How  can  men  be  so  simple  as  to  think  that  they 
stand  above  nature  when  they  are  themselves  so 
subordinate  to  nature  that  they  cannot  will  or 
think  freel}^  ?  It  looks  like  a  residue  of  our  primitive 
illusions.  If  the  present  development  of  European 
society  ends  in  atheism,  that  has  already  been  the 
case  with  the  Buddhists ;  if  in  religious  freedom, 
that  has  already  been  witnessed  in  the  early  history 
of  China ;  if  in  polygamy,  that  alreadj^  exists  among 
the  savages  of  Australia ;  if  in  commmiity  of  goods, 
this  prevailed  among  primitive  peoples.  The  fact 
is  that  Europe  has  been  the  last  of  all  the  great 
ethnical  groups  to  wake  to  consciousness.  It  is 
now  in  the  act  of  waking  and  turning  itself,  not 
like  some  oriental  nations,  to  torpid  quietism,  but 
to  removing  as  far  as  possible  the  pains  and  un- 
pleasantnesses of  earthly  existence,  although  the 
best  way  of  doing  so  has  not  been  yet  discovered. 
The  mistake  of  the  industrial  socialists  is  that 
they,  according  to  the  formula  of  the  ambiguous 
evolution  theory,  wish  to  build  upon  existing 
conditions,  which  they  regard  as  the  product  of 


248  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

necessitj^  and  tending  to  the  good  of  all.  But 
existing  conditions  rather  tend  to  the  happiness  of 
the  few,  and  are  therefore  something  abnormal 
to  build  on,  which  means  erecting  a  house  on  ground 
from  which  the  water  has  not  been  drained  off. 
Probably  the  form  of  society  which  thej^  desire, 
however  absurd  it  is,  is  a  necessarj^  mistake  through 
which  men  must  pass  to  reach  a  better.  Both 
the  danger  and  the  hope  of  progress  consist  in  the 
fact  that  the  socialistic  sj'stem  already  has  its 
programme  drawn  up  and  consequently  works 
automaticall}^  i.  e.  like  a  blind,  irresistible  mass. 
If  it  reconstitutes  society  after  the  pattern  of  the 
working-class  who  are  a  minority,  and  makes  all 
men  mechanics,  one  may  venture  to  doubt,  without 
being  regarded  as  quite  mad,  whether  that  will  be 
happiness.  Socialism  as  a  social  reform  is  inevitable, 
for  Europe  in  its  self-idolatry  has  not  perceived 
how  far  backward  it  is.  Provided  with  an  Asiatic 
form  of  government,  which  interferes  in  details, 
supporting  ancient  superstitions,  living  under  the 
terrible  tyranny  of  capital,  which  is  maintained  by 
force  of  arms,  it  sets  on  foot  political  and  religious 
persecutions,  it  venerates  embalmed  monarchs  like 
mummies  of  the  Pharaohs,  it  civilises  savages  ^\^th 
waste  goods  and  Krupp  guns ;  it  forgets  that  its 
civilisation  came  from  the  east,  and  was  better 
then  than  it  is  now.  Hartmann  and  the  pessimists 
believe  that  the  social  reform  which  is  called  socialism 
will  come,  but  that  afterwards,  it  \nll  be  succeeded 
by  something  else. 

The  bourgeois  is  an  ojDtimist  because  he  cannot 


THE   RED   ROOM  249 

see  or  think  outside  the  narrow  circle  of  everyday 
occurrences.  That  is  his  good  fortune,  but  not 
his  merit,  for  he  has  no  choice  in  the  matter.  Nay, 
he  does  not  even  understand  what  pessimism  is, 
but  thinks  it  means  the  opinion  that  this  is  the 
worst  of  all  worlds.  How  could  any  one  have  a 
well-grounded  view  on  that  ?  Voltaire,  who  was 
no  pessimist,  wrote  a  whole  book  to  demonstrate 
that  this  world,  at  any  rate,  was  not  the  best  of 
worlds  for  us,  as  Leibnitz  imagined.  It  is  naturally 
the  best  for  itself,  although  not  for  us,  and  the 
difference  between  the  point  of  view  of  the  hypo- 
chondriac and  the  pessimist  consists  in  the  fact 
that  the  former  believes  that  the  world  is  the  worst 
possible  for  him,  while  the  pessimist  disregards  what 
it  may  be  for  the  individual.  Hartmann  is  no  hypo- 
chondriac as  people  have  tried  to  make  out,  and  he 
seeks  to  alleviate  the  pain  of  life  as  much  as  possible 
by  placing  himself  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness. 

The  men  of  the  younger  generation  of  to-day 
are  sad,  because  they  have  awoke  to  consciousness 
and  lost  many  illusions.  But  they  are  not  hj'po- 
chondriacal,  and  work  at  bringing  the  world  forward 
into  the  last  stage  of  illusion  or  a  new  social  system, 
as  though  hoping  thereby  to  alleviate  their  pain, 
and  they  work  the  more  fanatically,  the  deeper 
they  feel  it. 

Meanwhile,  supposing  that  Hartmann 's  philosophy 
may  be  a  mistake,  and  a  sceptic  must  be  willing  to 
entertain  that  possibihty,  although  it  has  every 
probabihty  on  its  side,  since  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation,   the   first   condition   of  life,   consists 


250  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

in  the  removal  of  pain,  which  is  the  first  motive- 
power, — we  must  seek  to  explain  historically  how 
this  philosophy  has  come  to  the  birth  and  spread. 
Superficial  observers  like  the  mystic  Caro,  do  not 
hesitate,  inconsistently  enough,  to  attribute  it  to 
bodily   ill-health.     The   sociahsts,    who   wished   to 
arouse    the    expectation    that    their   teaching   was 
practicable,  explained  it  as  the  foreboding  of  over- 
throw in  a  class,  of  whom  Hartmann  was  the  repre- 
sentative.    But    Hartmann    believes    in    socialism 
and  the  new  social  sj^stem,  although  only  as  tran- 
sitional  forms.     He   is   not    despairing,    not   even 
melancholy.     He  seems  to  be  the  first  philosopher 
who,  quite  independently  of  Christianitj^  European 
culture  and  idealism,  tries  to  explain  the  world's 
progress  from  the  purely  materiafistic  point  of  view. 
He  states  facts  and  processes  exactly  as  they  are. 
From  unconscious  minerals  we  have  developed  into 
globules    of    albumen,    acquired    conscious    nerve- 
centres  and  finally  brains  with  ever-increasing  self- 
consciousness.     The  more  highly  organised  the  life, 
the  greater  the  capacity  for  pain  and  susceptibihty 
to  impressions.     Not  till  our  time  did  the  cosmic 
brain  succeed  in  arriving  at  clear  perception  and, 
accordingly,  at  divining  the  order  of  the   world. 
Hartmann  can  therefore  be  regarded  as  one  who 
arrived  at  the  highest  degree  of  consciousness,  and 
he  will  be  remembered  as  the  great  unmasker  before 
whose   keen   gaze  the   bandages  fell  away.     It  is 
consequently  a  mistake  to  call  him  "  the  prophet 
of    despair."     Ideahsts    may  feel  empty  and  de- 
spairing when  confronted  by  the  naked  truth,  but 


THE   RED   ROOM  251 

the  meliorist  feels  an  inexpressible  calm.  Man  will 
be  modest  when  he  takes  the  measure  of  his  little- 
ness as  an  atom  of  the  cosmic  dust.  He  will  no 
longer  build  his  happiness  on  a  future  life,  but  will 
be  impelled  by  pessimism  to  order  the  only  life 
he  has  as  well  as  he  can  for  himself  and  for  others. 
He  will  see  how  useless  it  is  to  lament  over  the 
misery  of  existence ;  he  will  accept  pain  as  a  fact, 
and  alleviate  it  as  well  as  he  can.  Hartmann  is  a 
reahst,  and  the  title  "  pessimist  "  in  its  old  signifi- 
cance has  been  fastened  on  him  out  of  malice.  He 
shudders  at  the  misery  of  the  world,  but  does  not 
even  call  it  misery.  He  only  shows  that  life  is  not 
so  great  and  beautiful  as  men  like  to  make  out, 
and  pain  in  his  view  is  not  a  mere  bodily  ailment, 
but  an  impelling  motive.  His  is  a  sound  and  health}'- 
view  of  tilings  in  contrast  to  which  sociaHsm  may 
sometimes  look  like  idealism,  since  it  wishes  to 
remodel  society  according  to  its  desires,  not  according 
to  the  possibilities  of  the  case. 

Meanwhile  the  review  article  on  Hartmann  had 
a  quickening  effect  on  John.  There  was  then  a 
sj^stem  in  the  apparent  madness  of  the  universe, 
and  his  consciousness  had  rightly  foreboded  that 
the  whole  scheme  of  things  was  something  very 
insignificant.  But  a  new  philosophic  system  is 
not  absorbed  by  a  brain  in  a  day.  It  onl}^  left  a 
certain  deposit  and  gave  a  kepiote  to  his  thoughts. 
As  a  theoretical  point  of  view  it  was  still  obscured 
by  his  idealistic  education,  darkened  by  his  inborn 
and  acquired  hatred  of  the  upper  class,  and  his 
natural  tendency  to  seek  his  point  of  equilibrium 


252  THE   GROWTH   OF  A  SOUL 

somewhere  outside  himself.  Taken  on  the  large 
scale,  life  was  meaningless,  but  if  one  wanted  to 
live,  one  had  to  come  to  grips  with  realitj^  and 
adopt  an  everyday  point  of  view,  which  alas  !  one 
very  readily  did.  Enormous  difficulties  stood  in 
the  way  of  earning  a  living  or  making  a  name. 
Honour,  viewed  absolutely,  was  nothing,  but  in 
relation  to  the  petty  circumstances  of  life  it  was 
something  great,  and  worth  striving  for.  The 
Philistines  did  not  understand  that,  and  derived 
much  amusement,  when  they  saw  him,  pessimist 
as  he  was,  toiling  after  distinctions.  They,  with 
their  clock-work  brains,  thought  this  inconsistent, 
since  they  did  not  understand  that  the  term  ' '  honour ' ' 
has  two  values,  an  absolute  and  a  "  relative." 


Richard  Clay  Jc  Soni,  Limited,  London  and  Bungay. 


19 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


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